Giving Desire her Due
by Chasind Desire
Summary: Desire is insidious. A wilder hired to track a Warden is caught up at Highever. She goes with a knight on his flight to Ostagar, joined by the wife Ser Jory left behind. Meanwhile a maleficar at Redcliffe is left to fight demons of his own making.
1. In for a Silver

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part One: Demon's Mark**  
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**Chapter One: In for a Silver**

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Before her eyes had even opened, Vhaaja could feel Desire purring in the recesses of her mind. It could only mean she had fed well the night before. Experimentally Vhaaja reached back, her hand meeting with the hard plane of a man's stomach. From the memories she was starting to recall, he was a delicious looking specimen. At the touch he mumbled something unintelligible, his breath tickling her ear. The sensation brought a soft smile to her lips.

**-What did we do last night?-** Vhaaja asked silently, directing the thought at the presence at the back of her mind.

The entity coiled there was all too willing to share, images of a handsome, dark-haired man between their thighs at the forefront of the onslaught. The details Vhaaja recalled were at the same time vivid and surreal, taking on a dream like quality. It was a side effect of having Desire so close to the surface. When Desire fed it was difficult to determine where the demon ended and Vhaaja began. She never let Desire have complete control, that would be lunacy. Whatever their partnership, the entity that shared Vhaaja's mind was still a demon and wasn't to be trusted. She fully expected that if given half the chance Desire would wrest control.

Yet to the demon's credit she'd never tried very hard, Vhaaja thought.

_-You forget I've felt the Templar's cold steel sink into borrowed flesh more times then you've digits to count by. It is never pleasant,-_ Desire yawned, in answer to the thought. Vhaaja envisioned her stretching out like a feline after a nap. To Vhaaja her voice was clear as crystal even though she didn't really exist on the mortal plane. Desire was anchored to her through the Fade. The strength of their connection seemed to depend on how long it had been since Desire had fed. There was power in all things mortals delighted in, those of the carnal persuasion not the least of them.

To many, it would at the very least be uncomfortable to share their mind with another. But Vhaaja hadn't ever been normal to begin with. Since childhood, she'd been able to see into that place between the waking world and the realm of dreams from time to time. She had grown up knowing that sometimes monsters really could lurk in the shadows. Most of them couldn't care less about, or even perceive, the physical plane. Of those that did, few had the power it took to punch through. Filtering out those glimpses into the in-between was yet another service Desire provided.

"Damnation," she sighed softly, remembering that she wasn't in this man's tent for the sake of pleasure alone. Vhaaja had been caught by an ill-tempered Templar near Denerim not long before, all thanks to a sweet talking mage. She forced herself not to dwell on how she'd foolishly given him her trust and with it the protection amulet that had once belong to her shaman. It wasn't as if he needed it anymore, the Templars had made sure of that. Yet if she ever chanced upon the mage again, Vhaaja felt she owed him a punch to the throat.

_-I blame you, of course, getting suckered in by a pretty face. One sob story about being locked in a tower and you felt sorry for the knicker-weasel. I warned you not to trust him,-_ Came the melodic tone in her ear.

Fortunately her gods, those of the Chasind, had smiled upon her. Vhaaja was in the Templar's custody only a few hours before she was rescued from his tender mercies; by an agent of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir no less. Even deep in the Wilds, folk told tales of the quick-witted general who'd thrown out the chevaliers, king Maric the Savior and Rowan his fierce warrior queen. The Orlesians had been as much friend to the Wilders as they had to the Ferelden people. Even less so, as it was during the Occupation that many of her people's shamans were lost to the Chantry's Knights. And because of that the shamans had started using bow-mages in greater numbers as a means to protect themselves.

To say the Teyrn was disappointed Vhaaja hadn't a drop of magic to her name that didn't originate from her bow was an understatement. He had been looking a mage. For what purpose, Vhaaja wouldn't learn until much later. At the time she was much too concerned about her own hide to care about whatever game was afoot. She had been expecting to end up back in the Chantry's grasp when it was apparent she was of no use. Instead he found another task for a quick footed Wilder.

The Chasind were renowned for their ability to follow their prey, that was how she had found herself tasked with tracking the Grey Warden Duncan, the head of his Order in Ferelden. If she was caught, the Teyrn could plausibly deny ever having hired her. None would believe a Chasind over a the Hero of the River Dane, not even another Wilder. If she was killed, well she wasn't one of his men and no one would miss her. Vhaaja couldn't help but admire his candid pragmatism.

In return for regular updates, she would get a large sum of coin. As an added bonus he had promised to provide Vhaaja with something to help alleviate some of her Templar problems. Hopefully it would be something more substantial than papers that said she wasn't a Wilder witch, marked with the Mac Tir device for authenticity. Templars could always tell there was something off about her, and 'Wilder witch' was always the assumption they jumped to. No sheet of parchment was going to solve that. Yet refusing the offer had never crossed her mind, Teryn Loghain was not a man one said 'thanks, but no thanks' to.

Vhaaja liked her head on her shoulders, thank you very much.

A hand appeared across her midsection. She moaned softly as he pulled his hand up her slender frame. Vhaaja slowly rolled on her back. Her impish grin was met by unrestrained lust in his dark-eyed gaze. Nimble fingers grasped her breast before he lowered his mouth to it. The sensation of his tongue encircling her erect nipple sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. The low growl in the back of her throat encouraged him to slip his fingers between her thighs. Warm tendrils of pleasure radiated from her core as he massaged the bud he found nestled within her tender petals. Reflexively she bucked against his hand and he increased the speed. Her breath hitched as his fingers entered her. Slick with her juices, he removed them and returned his attention back to her sexual center.

It was a pity she couldn't recall a name to go with the scrumptious looking man, that he was a Warden recruit was the most she remembered.

_-Daveth-_ Desire chimed in. Vhaaja was glad that one of them paid attention to details like that. The demon made no effort to hide that she liked this. Vhaaja didn't object either, by the lack of light filtering through the tent it wasn't dawn yet. Besides she already knew where Duncan was headed.

Highever.

oOo

"See Ser Gilmore, when you lift the door and shift it slightly the door comes open. Maybe its something with the lock?" Said a lanky light-haired boy. He then demonstrated on the cell in question. Sure enough it came open. It was times like this he regretted being so damn approachable. If something needed to be done, it was Ser Gilmore they looked for. Maybe he should try scowling more. "Figured it was something that someone should, uh, know about."

"No no, I'm glad you brought it to my attention," Roland said pulling a hand through his hair. He recognized the lad from the kitchens, one of Nan's helpers. One of the less intelligent ones at that. The real question, of course, was how the boy had come in to such information. After a moment Roland decided to give the boy a pass, since it might have just saved them all from the fun an escaped prisoner could provide. "We'll get a locksmith to come in and have a look on the morrow."

"Yes ser," the boy said, zipping back up to the castle proper. He followed behind at a slower pace, he genuinely couldn't wait for the day to be over with. A visit from Arl Rendon Howe, while pleasant for his lordship, was an exhausting exercise for most everyone else. Never mind the Teyrna's guests. Add on top of that a majority of Castle Highever's forces were making ready to travel to Ostagar soon. Soon being whenever Arl Howe's forces decided to arrived. There were darkspawn to fight, it wasn't the time to take a leisurely stroll.

He scolded himself mentally. Roland supposed he was a bit bitter still over being chosen to remain at the castle. Really, he should be honored that the Teyrn appraised his skills so highly as to leave his most treasured possessions in his care. Though he dared any man to tell Elissa Cousland she belonged to anyone but herself. He'd come back with a falsetto.

"So this is what has become of the dreaded Hornet of Highever?" he called, catching sight of a face he readily recognized. She turned to face him, a smile sweeping across her face. Despite being the same height as many a man, Helena was still womanly in appearance. Her long, ebony hair trailed down her back, woven into a quick braid. He had to admit, it was awkward seeing her in a skirt.

"Rory!" she called with a wave, moving towards him with a waddle. "Or do I have to call you Ser Gilmore now?"

"Of course not, we've trained together since…"

"You were a snot nosed bairn crying over your daddy leaving you on our doorstep? I remember that well enough," she let out hearty peal of laughter.

Roland cleared his throat at that and responded, "Ser Gilmore's just fine then."

She lifted a finely arched dark eyebrow at that. "How I've missed you all."

"Married life seems to be agreeing with you though. Are you ready?" His eyes dropped to her extended stomach for a moment. It was still hard to believe she's been married for nearly a year now. He remembered keenly how she used to best many of her peers with sword and shield. Himself included. There was no shame in being trounced by a woman, when that woman was Helena at least. She'd fought with speed and precision, stinging her enemy with her blade then dancing out of her opponent's reach. That, accompanied with her relentless nature, was how she had earned the nickname 'Hornet'. He'd never imagined her doing something so domestic as living happily ever after.

"Don't have much of a say in the matter at this point," she chuckled in response. "Though it'll be harder now that my husband's run off to stop the blight single-handedly."

"Your husband is really leaving with the Grey Warden then? And you let him? Lucky oaf,"

"Remember that's my Jory you're calling an oaf, Ser Gilmore," Helena said, putting hands at her back, "Besides, what was I suppose to do? Forbid it?"

"You could have pointed out that isn't a melon you're smuggling under there," Roland answered with a smirk.

"That would have been unfair of me. The Wardens need able men to fight the darkspawn. I'd be down there hacking their vile heads from their twisted bodies if I could. But that's not my lot it seems. Can't say I'm not a little bitter over it. Figures that the tournament I was unable to participate in would be the one the Wardens were watching for recruits,"

"He had the benefit of having you as a sparring partner at any rate. I hear he won out over Ser Pelgwyn with a move out of your playbook. Not that I could attend myself, I had other duties," he said with a heartfelt sigh. "Guess we both just have poor luck."

"Maker has a plan for us all, at least it's what Mother Mallol always says," the woman replied with her own sigh. it was then that Eleanor Cousland came around the corner. She was in search of something, or someone. When she spotted Roland, she nodded to herself. Helena caught the significance of the gesture as well.

"Oh, she seems to be looking for you," Helena said, her tone a warning.

"Ah, Ser Gilmore. I've a favor to ask you," Eleanor said coming upon the pair of them briskly.

"Of course my Ladyship," He responded with a slight bow of his head.

"My daughter's dog is harassing Nan again, and I've guests. Guests that would like to eat at a decent time I'd venture to guess. Do you think you could find her, get her to collect the Beast?"

"Right away my Ladyship." He gave her another respectful nod.

"Helena, so good to see you. I'd stay and chat but…" she made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

"Your guests, its good to see you too Teyrna," She lowered her head and dipped into a slight curtsy until Eleanor was out of earshot. Then with a laugh she regarded Roland, "Sending you after the _Spitfire_, the object of your undying affections."

Helena had once told him that she thought that 'spitfire' a diplomatic term for a quick-tempered, difficult young woman who enjoyed getting her way. One would think with that description, Elissa Cousland would have a better time of it at court. As it were, rumor would have it that the Teyrna was having a difficult time securing a match. Not that Roland paid much head to gossip.

He turned to her with a level gaze, eyes narrowed. Hopefully that would counter act the burn he was starting to feel at his cheeks. Being as fair as he was it was hard to hide a blush. Another peal and he knew he'd been unsuccessful. It was improper to even to fancy about. She was a Teyrn's daughter and he was the umteenth child of a minor lord in the Bannorn. That he was one of the legitimate ones he counted a small mercy.

"That's an exaggeration." he said clearing his throat with a cough. "I really should get going, it's always a pleasure Helena."

"I should get going myself, I rode up here with my neighbor. Thought they'd send the men out today. But I guess Howe's men have been delayed. It's like they are out picking daisies or something. She has wagon to save me the walk. I don't want to keep her waiting." she said softly, then wrapped an arm around him for a quick embraced before meandering off.

oOo

Vhaaja hated dogs, that was all she was going to say about the embarrassment of being caught.

She didn't struggle against the red-headed knight, his hands big enough to hold both her wrists in one. Where would she go if she escaped him? Killing him was always an option she supposed. She'd trained to tumble with Templars, one knight would be easy. But at this juncture she might be able to get out of a death sentence. They said Bryce Cousland was a fair man, it wasn't as if she was caught making off with the family jewels. Though, to be honest, she might have given it a go if his Lordship's eldest had been willing. She was here on a mission of national security damn it! Not that anyone would back her story, Teyrn Loghain had made it abundantly clear that she was on her own. She was expendable.

"Mmmm, I like it rough," Vhaaja said as she was shoved up against the cold stone of Castle Highever's dungeon. The red-headed knight snorted, choosing not to dignify her comment with a verbal response.

There was a chill in the air, in the distance she could hear water dripping steadily on the rock. The odor of rusty metal, unwashed bodies, and human excrement combined into a stench that clung oppressively to every breath. It was unpleasant, to say the least. It wasn't so much that she felt the walls would close in on her as it was the lack of freedom. A silent prayer left her lips, asking her gods to grant her the ability to hold her tongue. Being surround by stone walls made her anxious. Vhaaja had the unfortunate habit of running off at the mouth when she was nervous, which she found rarely helped her situation.

"Is this the part where you strip search me? I promise to misbehave," she smarted off as he patted his hands down her leathers in search of hidden weapons. In for a silver, in for a sovereign she figured. As the knight pull the two daggers she'd hidden in her boots, another pair of footsteps made their way down the stairwell.

"Almost got lucky," Ser 'not-amused' said as he nearly shoved her into the first cell he came to. He then put her into the next cell down. "Almost put you in the faulty cell. Can't have you telling all your thief friends about how you got away. Bad for the reputation."

"I am not a thief. I've been following the Grey Warden," Vhaaja hissed in response. Being accused of theft struck a special chord. Wilders were always being accused of taking things that weren't theirs.

"She's telling the truth, this one has been trailing me for some time. Quite impressively actually," his voice was rich, even and commanded attention even in soft tones. "Do you mind leaving me alone with her?"

"No, of course not Warden," He bowed his head like a good little knight. He gave her a last look, he was certainly amused now. It made Vhaaja want to put an arrow in his eye socket. She smiled sweetly as she thought about his gruesome death. "Just let someone know if you need it cleaned up after."

Before he left, the knight collected her effects and placed them in a barrel by the entrance. Vhaaja snorted, she didn't even warrant a chest it seemed. Duncan waited patiently. When the knight left, the Warden approached the cell. He was careful to stay out of arm's length. He examined her, pulling his gaze down from her head to her toe. Staying silent would have been the smart thing to do. It wasn't something she'd been accused of lately however.

"So you knew I was following you the whole time, eh? I knew I wouldn't do so hot within walls, but I guess I overestimated my skill set all together," she hung her arms through the bars and put her weight on her elbows casually. Vhaaja wondered if she looked as much like a cornered animal and she felt. All the possible questions he could ask ran through her mind. Loghain wasn't paying her to be silent, she'd pigeon out at the drop of a hat if it would get her out of the cell. The words that came were completely unexpected.

"I wouldn't say that. You just underestimated my ability at knowing when I'm being followed. I already have a fair notion as to who would put you up to such a thing." He bought a hand over his mouth in contemplation. "Have you ever considered becoming a Grey Warden? We could use a woman with your 'skill set' as it were."

Vhaaja stared. It was all she could manage as the shock of being asked such a ridiculous question. To kill darkspawn? That seemed a worthy goal. She'd almost felt like her old self these last few weeks. Since leaving the Wilds in disgrace, she'd been adrift. Lost in a world she hardly understood. She'd forced herself to be numb. The agony over having failed her shaman had been too great. She'd even lacked the decency to die with her bow-sisters. Tracking Duncan had given her a purpose, she'd felt useful. Would that feeling translate to a new goal? What better way to atone for her failure then to spend the rest of her life fighting off the creatures that defiled her home? They'd sprung from the Korcari Wilds after all.

As she opened her mouth to answer, screams of men bellowed from above. Vhaaja recognized the sounds of fighting. Were men dying above her head? Within moments she was alone. The Warden had barreled up the stairwell.

"Arl Howe's men are attacking!" Came shouts as he opened the door to the main castle. Her whole body shuddered. She took three steps and slid slowly down the back wall of her cell. She was trapped, and unarmed. The only thing she could realistically hope for was that they would kill her quickly.

_-That is highly unlikely,-_ Desire sighed. Vhaaja could feel the demon already contemplating where she was going to find another host.

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**a/n: **I wanted to thank who opened this fic, especially any Cheeky Monkeys. This is my 'epic yarn' that I've been writing for about two years in a composition notebook. The first few chapters are the 'Highever' arc, and sadly there is no Jowan (believe me, it's painful for me not to write him!) At the end of this arc we will get our first glimpse at our favorite maleficar. I hope you enjoy! **  
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	2. Darkest Edge of Knight

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part One: Demon's Mark**  
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**Chapter Two: Darkest Edge of Knight**

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_Elissa grabbed his hand, the desperate touch against his flesh kindled desire within his breast. How could his body be so base in the midst of calamity? Through long lashes she pleaded wide eyed at him. His breath caught at the sight of her, he'd never seen her so utterly vulnerable. It sparked instincts buried deep within his blood to protect her, to see her safe. Before the words had left her shapely mouth, he knew what she would ask of him. How many times had he watched those lips and wondered at the taste of them? He already knew his answer as well, yet he let this bittersweet moment linger. His last taste of longing. For the end was very near._

_"Ser Gilmore, come with us!"_

_Even for her he could not. He could not leave his men, all of them like brothers. He hadn't seen any of his blood kin in years, these men were his family. They'd trained together, bled together. Roland knew where his place was, even if it was in contradiction to where he desired to be. If he abandoned them now, they wouldn't have the courage to hold Howe's forces back. No. He couldn't ask them to die if he wasn't willing to do so himself. The only justice to be had this night would be that they, brothers in arms, would die together._

_"No my lady. I must stay. Someone must hold the gates,"_

_She stared at him a moment more, tears trailing freely down her cheeks. Finally she nodded. She understood. If Elissa hadn't been hadn't been born a Teyrn's daughter, she could have been an able soldier. There was a tenacity to the woman he'd admired since his first days in Highever. Just as her fingertips pulled away from him, he felt lips upon his own. All his pent up passion flowed through that kiss, the release of it overwhelmed any other thoughts. Until one badgered its way to the surface._

No. This isn't what happened_, Roland thought to himself and he drew back from the kiss. He brought a hand to his lips. It certainly felt real._

_"You're right. Its not how it happened. But its how I wanted it to happen. You need to listen to me carefully. I can't stay long," she said, then molded her frame against his. Her head pressed against his chest, Roland reflexively wrapped his arms around her. "I haven't much time."_

_"You are….then?" He couldn't bring himself to say the word._

_"I am talking to you through the Fade. Can you think of another explanation? There is still hope for you Roland. For my brother. You've been given a reprieve, you must not squander it. Howe has had you put into a cell within the Highever dungeons." Her voice faltered, her emotions getting the better of her._

_"Why would he do such a thing? He wasn't taking prisoners."_

_"Howe is the type that likes to break men, you know that as well as I. You'll think those that died the lucky ones before he is through. You must escape! You must warn my brother!"_

_"Fergus, yes. Escape. Is it even possible?"_

_"Take the Chasind. You will need her," with that, he felt himself start to wake. "You were lucky."_

oOo

_-It is done- _Desire said.

Vhaaja hissed against the sudden pain at her wrist. She turned it over to have a look at its tender underside. There, branded into the pale flesh was a heart shaped symbol. The scent of burned skin lingered, a familiar fragrance. Flemeth's first rule: always deal with demons in marks. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a favor for a favor was all a demon was equipped to understand. Attributing to them human qualities was the first step towards downfall. Later Desire would claim what she wanted in return for what she had done here.

**-You always did have a flair for the dramatic,- **as it was for Desire on the physical plane, it was for Vhaaja in the Fade. She the inkling presence at the back of the demon's mind. Thinking too hard upon that paradox had been the cause of headaches in the past. It was a difficult concept to wrap her head around, that she and the demon were equally real yet intangible to each other.

_-I still wonder why you want to save him. The way the guards leer at you its only a matter of time until one tries something,- _she asked, genuinely curious.

**-I couldn't just leave him here,- **Vhaaja explained, the oddest things perplexed the demon. Concepts that were second nature to her, were foreign to Desire.

-_Why not?-_

**-For the sake of any shred of humanity I still possess.-**

_-It's dreadfully tedious, this humanity of yours.-_

Wasn't that the truth of it, from the mouth of a demon no less. A male groan sounded from the cell next to hers. The subtle noise was like music to her ears. Vhaaja couldn't help herself.

"Good morning sunshine, sleep well?"She reprimanded herself as soon as the word left her lips.

She shouldn't be taking out her sour mood on him. Vhaaja reminded herself of what he had lost, and she had a fair gauge of what was in store for him. What did they call it? Survivor's guilt? It was something she knew all too well. For one reason or another he was the only one they had brought down to the dungeon. Howe had given her the once over, and left her. She wasn't a threat apparently, and the Arl was happy to let nature take its course. She'd found herself hoping he'd try and have his way with her; so she could snap his neck or permanently unman him. She'd have died soon after, yet she'd have gone into the Beyond feeling accomplished.

Men seemed to constantly underestimate women. It would forever be their undoing.

"You are an evil woman," he responded at length. Vhaaja took that as a sign of good health.

"Yet handy to have around," she whispered in response to the knight, "I already know how we are going to get out. Howe's forces are stretched, there is only a token force here," stretched thinner still because a portion of that force was scattered about looking for Elissa and the Warden, or so Howe's thugs had whispered. How could they be so unaware of how murmurs traveled in these stone corridors? But dreams were powerful things, and to let the knight know that his lady was alive to deliver her own message to her brother might take the fight out of him. If they were going to get out of this mess, Vhaaja need him to believe he was the Cousland's only hope. "Listen carefully. The next duo of men that come to check on us will try and take advantage of me. I can take one, but your assistance with the other would be most appreciated."

"You're so sure that they'll do this how?"

"Nudity has that effect on slovenly soldier types, if I'm not mistaken. That and they were bragging earlier they would 'take the fight out of me'." She joked, still whispering. Her day of incarceration hadn't been spent meekly reflecting upon her past misdeeds. She spared a glance for the leathers at the back of her cell. Swift, booted steps soon came towards them. There was nothing more suspicious than a whispering prisoner it seemed. "Feeling lucky?" She took his grunt to mean he was ready.

She and the guards exchanged a few lines of banter. From their lack of attention to the knight, he was most likely pretending to still be unaware. But of course Vhaaja couldn't be sure, the ability to see through walls wasn't one of her nifty, post abomination features.

_-We are not an abomination, we'd be out of this cage already if we were.-_ It wasn't the first time the demon had made such a proclamation. Becoming an abomination was to combine their essences, to give up their individuality, Desire had once explained. What the two of them had was unique, funny how Vhaaja didn't feel special at the moment.

One of the guards approached her cell, candid and primal lust heavy in his features. Vhaaja had a shapely figure, her breasts a bit on the small side she felt, but she'd known bow-sisters with more and they'd found running and exercise a troublesome thing. They'd had to strap them down anyway. In the low light, her scars were nearly invisible. He wasn't the type of man that would set her aside because of a few measly scars at any rate. Honestly she doubted he'd object if she walked on four legs and chased her own tail. Always rumors about Fereldens and their unnatural fondness for their dogs.

He moved closer to the door and licked his lips, taking in the visual feast. She stared at him, wide eyed and asked him if he thought he was man enough to handle her. It put him off, he put his hand on the metal of the door and told Vhaaja the dirty things he wanted her to do. None so clever or original they bared repeating however. All that mattered was he'd stepped in close enough.

The other guard with him wasn't fast enough to stop her from reaching out and grabbing the first guard's head between her hands. Vhaaja placed her feet on the door and pulled sharply backwards, the man's head coming against the bars with a sickening crack. While he was dazed Vhaaja twisted his head until she felt a pop and heard a faint snap, breaking his neck with a practiced ease. It was all in the wrist. The remaining guard went for the dagger at his waist as the other slid to the floor, obviously the better choice given the sword on his back. Howe hadn't picked these men for their intelligence it seemed. Only their willingness to slaughter innocents. The hinges of the cell next to hers creaked. In the next moment the red-headed knight had swept up behind the guard and wrested the man's weapon from his hand. Which the knight swiftly buried it in the side of the man's skull.

Vhaaja picked her leathers up and started to redress as the knight checked the men for keys. He ventured a look up at her before she'd pulled her clothing on all the way, blushed and averted his gaze. Vhaaja smiled, so he liked what he saw. That held potential, yet another reason to succeed at this escape attempt. From the prickling sensation at the base of her cranium, Desire approved. Plus fifteen.

"No keys," he said.

"I have a set of lock picks in my belongings if you'd be so kind." she said coolly, not letting fear into her tone. It was up to her to act as if she knew what she was doing. She refused to rely on Ser Knight. He seemed the type that could push it all aside until it was more convenient, but to expect it of him was folly. What he'd just been through, she'd not wish it on anyone. Not even a Templar.

He went to the barrel, a slight limp in his step. That wasn't promising, Vhaaja noted. He grabbed the items out of the barrel. Her belt pouch, her bow, her quiver and the daggers she'd hidden in her boots. He rummaged through her pouch while letting the other effects slip out of his keeping onto the floor. She winced as the bow hit the stone, the weapon was almost an extension of herself. A literal pound of her own flesh had gone into its creation, well, blood at any rate. He found the picks and handed them to her.

"I am Ser Gilmore. What do I call you?" he asked her as she worked at the lock. He'd already started to undress the man closer to his size, then pulled on the armor over the thread bare clothing he'd been allowed.

"Vhaaja, Vhaj if you like." she answered, swallowing down her smart remarks. Her freedom was at hand, she no longer had the insatiable urge to antagonize the man. The door came open with a bit of effort. "How is your leg? I saw you limping."

His grumble about how the limb was fine, that it was only a pulled muscle, did not placate her concern. Vhaaja slung the quiver over her shoulder casually, the daggers back in her boots and the pouch fastened to her belt. She went through the contents of the pouch and pulled out a small circular container. She unscrewed the top and peered inside. Only a bit left. It would be enough for him to get out of the castle at least.

"This will counter-act your pain. Be warned though, the relief will be temporary and it will be easy to worsen the injury." she said. She handed the container to him. He peered into it, Vhaaja couldn't help but snort as he stared at the paste inside. He blinked at it a few times, obviously confused by what to do with the substance. Instead of asking the question however, his hands went to the waistband of his trousers.

"Its war paint. You put it on your face." she corrected. "Our shamans create it, so the Chasind can fight beyond their limits. It's served us well."

"Guess getting out of here is more important than if I look silly or not." He commented before using the pittance in the wooden container to draw a dark red line across brow. "So how are we getting out of here with just an archer and single sword?"

Vhaaja dropped and grabbed her bow, a wry smile twisting her lips. Just an archer. Nagging suspicions filtering to the surface of her thoughts, stinging her with doubt. Something about this seemed wrong, it was too easy. Vhaaja shrugged it off, whatever came she would handle it when the time arrived. Or die.

oOo

The Chasind, Vhaaja he reminded himself, had moved with relentless speed, sweeping behind men like a whisper. In one motion she'd cupped one hand over a mouth and with the other she'd pull a blade across their throat as a butcher would a sow. Cold, silent, calculating, there was no flicker of emotion as she killed. To dispatch men so effortlessly required practice. There was no doubt in Roland's mind that she had killed many times before. While he wasn't sure what to make of that, Roland was sure that without her he would never have gotten this far.

Roland gritted his teeth against the pain. The woman's hands probed his body carefully, taking count of his wounds by dawn's light. They'd been on the move all night, since they'd escaped the castle. With the first rays of sun, Vhaaja had called for them to stop. And Roland had never been more grateful. Still he couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency, that they were losing time by stopping.

"Easy there handsome. We're safe. The men Howe left are thugs. I'll know if they approach," she sounded rather sure of herself.

Roland was inclined to believe her even, given that she'd just set half of Highever castle a flame with a volley of arrows. She'd called it a 'distraction'. Hardly seemed appropriate for such destruction. Before that had happened, he hadn't believed her quips about walking out of the castle's front gates. What was she? Wilder witch? Surely not. Vhaaja wouldn't have allowed herself to be caught and thrown in a cell had that been the case.

"What are you?" he asked, "You set the very air on fire."

"Bow-mage, is what it translates to in your tongue. Our shamans, our mages, weave spells into our bows. It is a bow-mage's duty to defend their shaman from the Templars the Chantry sends into our Wilds to…" she trailed off. As she did so her touch became rougher, angrier. The hatred radiated off her, hot and nearly tangible in the silence between them. Just as quickly it was gone. Like she'd flipped a switch and told herself not to be angry anymore. Vhaaja then stepped back from him. "I'd feel better if you were seen by a healer. Your Ferelden is so complicated. In the Wilds we just go see the medicine woman. She lays her hands on you and you are better. How you all haven't died by now is beyond me."

Of his injuries, he had a superficial head wound, a couple of bruised ribs on his left side, and a pulled muscle in his thigh on the same side. His sword arm was fine, thank the Maker. But his shield arm was weak. He was also covered in bruises and cuts. How had he come away with so little wrong with him? Hardly seemed fair. Not that anything about what Howe had done was tempered with fairness. But for one reason or another, the Maker had another plan in store for him. His duty now was clear.

While he tried not to think upon the dream, flight of fancy or not, it was very likely that Elissa was indeed dead. And if that was the case, then Fergus needed to be warned. It could already be too late. He shut those thoughts out, and focused on the next step. That would require getting to Ostagar.

"Its not much, but I have a friend in Highever village. Maybe she could help us secure some horses. Some provisions. As much as I'd like to we can't just start heading south and hope for the best." He didn't like the idea of getting Helena involved. The woman had enough on her plate. But his options were severely limited.

"Do you know where this friend lives?"

"Vaguely."

"Its better then wandering aimlessly I suppose. You are in remarkable condition considering, but don't push yourself either. We need to make haste but I can't carry you if you collapse." Vhaaja's voice lifted at the end, trying to make light of it. She was a small thing, but of what he knew of the Wilders that was normal. They were a shorter, stockier people. With dark hair, dark eyes and fair skin tones. Her hair was a bit light for the common depiction, a shade of mousy brown. It was pulled into a wild tail at the top of her head. What ever bangs she had were swept back by a purple colored scarf, the ends of which draped over her right shoulder.

"You are a great deal stronger then you look. Thank-you."

"The Chasind value hidden strength. I do not deserve your thanks. It was in my best interest to escape. My motives on that were selfish, I assure you."

"You could have left me to my own devices once we were free. It would have been easier for you. Don't think I misunderstand that. Perhaps I was hasty in calling you an evil woman."

"Oh no, I am definitely evil. At least unsavory. I didn't think I could be more then that. Then Duncan asked me if I'd ever considered becoming a Warden, after you left him with me." A humorless chuckle escaped Roland. It wasn't what he'd been expecting to happen when the Warden asked for time alone with the insufferable woman. Vhaaja continued on, her narrowed eyes the only acknowledgment of his outburst. "I wanted it, so badly. To be someone else. I know he showed a great deal of interest in you, via my less than covert observations. The way I see it, if things had happened differently, we might be heading to Ostagar together with the Warden. Imagine the pair of us, fighting off darkspawn, slaying an arch-demon. They might have told stories about us for ages to come!"

"He'd tested me, the Warden. We were going to leave with Howe's forces for Ostagar. One moment I'd gotten everything I'd hoped for, and the next…" it was then that the wall of grief washed over him.

His gaze drifted to the shield he'd taken from one of the men they'd killed escaping. Howe's bear device stared back at him, taunting him. Suddenly he was back in the castle again. The first thing Roland had noticed as they came above ground was the stench of burning flesh. Familiar faces of men, women and children plagued his mind. He envisioned them being tossed like refuse upon communal pyres, dead eyes gaping at him. Asking him with silence why he'd survived, and they'd died. He couldn't answer, Maker did he wish he had an answer. The only living person with an answer was Howe, and Roland was as likely to get it from him as the Maker.

He felt her hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. When he looked up at Vhaaja, there was an understanding in her gaze. "A Wilder does not end up so very far from home, in the reaches of Highever, because she has lead a charmed life free from loss. You are not alone. Perhaps there will even be darkspawn left for us to slay once we get to Ostagar? That is where this Fergus is located?"

Roland nodded as he stood, pulling his tunic back on over his head. It was at least something to look forward to. To hope for. "They'll tell tales of us yet."

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**a/n:** I wanted to send a special shout out to the Cheeky Monkeys Nithu, KCousland, Saga Svanhildr for reviewing and giving me the encouragement I crave. I would also like to thank Shakespira for being an awesome Beta, on the first chapter. She really helped get all my ducks in a row.


	3. Trials 1:10

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part One: Demon's Mark**  
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**a/n:** Again I'd like to thank those that read. I love you all, even the the silent readers. **-WARNING-** This chapter refers to what could be interpreted as rape. I just wanted to give a fair warning. It isn't graphic. I tried very hard to handle it delicately.

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**Chapter Three: Trials 1:10**

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_-I've decided what I want,- _ Desire declared. Vhaaja didn't even have to ask. She was staring at him, or at least his backside. They'd come across a small brook and Ser Gilmore had felt inclined to use it to wash the line of red paint from his forehead along with some of the blood from his scalp. Droplets of water still sluicing down his neck from his hair, he lead the way. The demon made it a point to bring Vhaaja's attention to his finer attributes, like how well he filled out the borrowed armor. Imagine what he'd look like in something more fitting. What about sans clothing altogether? All of which she tried valiantly to ignore. Yet, it wasn't something she was particularly skilled at. And Desire was very much like a dog with a bone once she set her mind to a task. More often then not Vhaaja found herself giving in for the sake of ending the demon's constant prattling.

How much longer she could resist was questionable.

So instead she concentrated on her surroundings. The small path was surrounded by trees, but Vhaaja would have hardly called it a forest. 'Woods' perhaps. Being surrounded by leaf and bark made her long for the Wilds regardless. She wanted nothing more then to once again be embraced by the ever present mist. She only truly felt secure wrapped in the blanket of fog which cocooned the Chasind and protected them from those that would devour them. From both the barbarians to the south in the snowy wastes and the Chantry's savages to the north.

Brambled Path had once told her that the mist was itself a living entity, of otherworldly origin. She fought back the ache that accompanied the thought of him. When would she be able to make it through the day without her thoughts finding her shaman? Perhaps, if he had been only her shaman she wouldn't have felt his loss so keenly. If they had not been more, he'd not have felt the urge to sacrifice himself for her sake. A bow-mage was not trained to survive her shaman, she was trained to die for him. And yet, if it had been only that she'd still have a home to return to. That place she'd lived in love with her beloved was no longer home. There was no going back.

"I have a question Ser Gilmore," she asked, picking up her pace so she walked abreast of him. She needed a distraction or her dour thoughts would consume her. He turned his head a bit, suspicion, outlined with narrowed ginger brows, written clearly across his strong features. "Why is it you go by Ser Gilmore, and not Ser Roland. That is the usual syntax correct?"

"Roland is a common name. There were several at Highever castle alone," he answered plainly. She winced internally, sorry that she'd opened her mouth. He hid the pain well, but Vhaaja was an astute observer. The way he held his breath a fraction longer. The way he smiled, half-heartedly when he was keeping unwanted thoughts at bay. She supposed it was better then him breaking down into a sobbing mess. She honestly wouldn't know what to do with that. She wasn't exactly the type to pat him on the back and tell him it'd be all right. It would never be all right, she well knew. There was no getting over it. One just got used to the constant thread of pain tugging at the heart, until eventually it could be ignored.

"I imagined Wilders would wear more fur personally," he commented, making the effort to keep his tone light. Perhaps he felt the same need for distraction.

"Like I don't have enough problems with being identified as a Wilder witch. I traded my furs and fetishes out for these dull Ferelden-mades as soon as I left the Wilds," she replied, brushing imaginary dirt from her cuirass.

The pair continued making small talk until they reached the end of the wooded section of the path. Highever village was within view. It didn't look untouched, some of the homes still smoked. It was likely that so close to the castle the peasants had rioted. Let it not be said Bryce Cousland and his family went unloved by their people. Though she imagined that Howe would put down a mob the same way the border Banns handled Wilder raids. Of course the tribes would do far worse to the marauders if they caught them. Shamans made examples of those that would put them all in danger. An Exalted March was not an unprecedented step against heathens. The Chasind survived by appearing weak, a non-threat.

"We should wait until dark. Howe would not have left your men in charge. A couple hours of sleep would be good for you. Don't even start with the 'what about you'. I'm not the one covered in bruises and limping," She'd seen him open his mouth to protest, and had cut him to the chase. He nodded. He was getting his spine back at any rate. He wouldn't be so biddable soon. He seemed like a man that wanted a say, she could tell he had an opinion about everything. Yet he'd mastered a talent she had not, Ser Gilmore knew when to keep said opinions to himself.

He leaned back against one of the trunks, at the ready if trouble did arise. It wasn't long before exhaustion claimed him. She herself sat cross legged not far from him. Eyes closed, palms facing the sky, Vhaaja listened to the forest, or woods rather. The sounds intrigued her, so similar to those she was familiar and yet not. A variation on the same theme, she mused. She let the noise become her focus, instead of her chaotic mind; remembering that everything had its place. As she focused on the world outside herself her mind stilled, her circling woes caught in the endless current and drifting away.

It was a state she'd once called tranquility. A word that now made her shudder.

Suddenly the wind shifted. Only for minute, but long enough for Vhaaja to catch a foul scent on the breeze. It was the reek of charred flesh, faint but unmistakable. Her eyes snapped open, her senses taking on a seemingly keener edge now that her mind was free from distraction. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the small reflection of sun off metal. She didn't wait, bow in hand she nocked an arrow as she rose elegantly from the earth. She let the arrow fly as she reached her feet where she'd seen the flash of light. It was swiftly followed by the sound of a man in pain. She gave herself ten points, a smug smile relaying her satisfaction.

"We have company!" she cried. With a few groans and the chime of his borrowed scale, he was up almost immediately. High Mother be praised for his military education. Vhaaja continued to scan, listening for the sounds of others. Snap. A twig. She turned to the sound. Time slowed, and somehow she could see the arrow before it plunged into her neck. She shifted her weight, and it bit into her flesh. Red rivulets cascaded down her bare arm from the gash atop her shoulder. Yet not the mortal strike that was intended. With a hiss, she absorbed the delicious burning agony of the fresh wound. She focused on it, her senses sharpened. She prayed the next arrow wouldn't next find an eye socket.

Vhaaja caught sight of movement then, a shadow shifting with in the green. He grunted as her arrow took him in the throat. A warcry sounded behind her and she turned again. Her bow was little use in close quarters, against the burly man charged towards them. He held his greatsword high, ready to bring it crashing down. Ser Gilmore was there, absorbing the blow with his shield. Vhaaja caught the tremor in his arm before the joint buckled under the strength of the aggressor. It was enough of a delay for her to pull a dagger long wise up his belly, along the gap in his scale. The enchanted blade tearing through leather and flesh easily. His foe distracted by his impending death, Ser Gilmore pushed with every ounce of strength he had. The brute met the earth, weapon forgotten as he press his hands against his side in vain attempt to keep his innards, well, inside.

"Do you know how long it takes to die from a gut wound?" Vhaaja said, coming to stand over top of him, an arrow trained at his throat. He moved to grab her legs, but she was too quick for him to catch. It only earned him a swift boot to the site of injury. As he cried out and bled into the loamy soil she continued, "Sometimes hours, its extremely painful. If you haven't guessed that already. Poisoned by your own foulness, a fitting end to trash. I also know enough magic to prolong it. Or I could end you cleanly. Tell me why you attacked us. Are there anymore?"

He shook his head, pain etched in his grizzly features. His great barrel chest rising and falling with the effort. He coughed, bloody mist escaped his, clung to the corners of his mouth. "We were to pick off any survivors from the castle. Please..." Vhaaja let the man squirm for a few seconds before moving her foot to press upon his wound. She didn't wait for the agony to subside before she asked again. What was a lie to a piece of filth such as this? Again she received the same answer, and a more dire plea. Finally she released. The man uttered a last grunt as the arrow sunk into his neck.

There was silence as she looked to the knight. His expression was midway between impressed and horrified.

_-You are going to scare him off,-_ her demon teased.

"Pfft, you don't know any magic," Ser Gilmore commented, rolling the shoulder of his shield arm. Vhaaja's hands darted about the man's person, checking for anything valuable. She came away only with a small purse of silver. "But I suppose he didn't know that. Remind me not to get on your angry vengeful side."

oOo

A storm of fury burned in Roland's breast as he moved through the dark streets of Highever village. Howe's destruction had not been limited to the castle it seemed. At least all the fires had been put out, even if the scent of blood and smoke lingered. Among the guard, he didn't recognize a single face. He hadn't been expecting any less. Howe would have replaced them with his own men to keep the peace, or the illusion of it. He hoped they faired better then the men at the castle, though the scenario wasn't promising. Especially after one considered how many men had been made example of, strung from the atop the village's walls.

Roland hesitated as he came to Helena's door. Did he dare bring his problems down upon the woman. Her property looked untouched. If she was found harboring him, he shuddered to think what they would do to her. If Oren hadn't been safe from Howe's men, a pregnant woman wouldn't either. Beside him Vhaaja was alert, head twitching towards every sound, evaluating if it was a threat or not. The woman had easily slipped into her cold feral persona as she'd entered the village. Did so many people in such tight quarters make her nervous he wondered. He must have taken too long for her like, after a long sigh she asked, "Is this it?"

He nodded. Before his hand met the wooden door, Vhaaja had taken the initiative and knocked for him, grumbling under her breath, something Chasind he guessed since he couldn't recognize any of the words. The door opened hesitantly, revealing a teary eyed elven woman. She was a lovely little thing, as most of her race were. Light blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a slim figure. "Does Helena live here? I am Ser Gilmore, a friend of hers."

Her bottom lip quivered before she opened the door wider, her bright blue eyes brimming with sorrow. Nothing that came next could be good. His stomach knotted, bile rose to the back of his throat. That would be a sight, him getting sick all over the poor maid. Not that he'd had enough to eat in the past day and a half that it would be anything more then acid. He watched Vhaaja slip inside, sideways like a feline being let in after a day chasing mice. There was a way about the woman that piqued his interest, and equally his concern. He followed quietly, steeling himself for what horror came next.

"She's spoken of you highly," the elf said meekly after closing the door. "Its terrible what they did to her."

Maker's breath, what did they do to her?

"She was just trying to protect me," the little elf sobbed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed unable to form the words. He didn't want to know more, his imagination was enough.

"Leyna! Who is that?" came a voice from a room off the main. It was soon followed by the appearance of an older elven woman, her hair white with age. Yet still vivid upon her skin were the her red facial markings. She quickly looked the humans over, her expression solemn. She continued without waiting for the younger elf's response. "Helena is in no condition to receive visitors."

"Y-yes _Hahren_," Leyna replied, shying away from the older elf.

"She's alive then," Roland asked.

"Thanks to my gifts, yes. But the babe was beyond saving," there was true sadness there. The pain from loss of an unborn child transcended race. "Are you the father? She speaks of finding him."

"He's en route to Ostagar, if he isn't there already," numbness took his mind. The atrocity of what happened was simply one more to add to the pile. He shoved it aside with the rest. There would be time for it later.

"It's where we are headed. But we needed provisions…and maybe a horse or two." Vhaaja supplied. The elven woman eyed her for a moment. Vhaaja crossed her arms, a scowl pulling at her features. The woman opened her mouth, and Vhaaja interjected, "It was my mother that was the knife-ear, if that's what you were eyeing me for."

The woman nodded, taking seemingly little offense from the course term. Roland was sure she'd heard worse. But it did make the knight look his companion over again. Now that his attention was upon the details, she did look a bit elf-blooded. Not that they had any evident traits to mark them such. It was more the delicate caste to their features. Something in the cheekbones perhaps. On Vhaaja it wasn't an obvious difference, and he'd never seen a proper Wilder before. For all he had known, they all looked like that. Was that what gave the feral edge to her appearance he'd noticed?

"I could procure what you need. The horses may take…time. What this woman did for my Leyna, well she deserves repayment. I'll not be beholden to a Shemlen. All I ask is that you wait, and take her with you. Her physical injuries will be well enough in a day or two under my able hands. But those on the inside will not heal so quickly, and her man might be the best balm."

Roland didn't ask where the woman was going to get the horses. They were costly things in Ferelden. And elves didn't have disposable income. He looked quickly to Vhaaja, who shrugged.

"Its up to you, you are the one that said we can't just head south without provisions. Horses will give us an edge. We don't have many options. Besides maybe the-_Hahren _was it?-can take a look at our injuries." Vhaaja said, bringing a hand to her chin as she thought. Her brow knitting as she contemplated.

Roland hesitated, taking a breath at length. Apostate was probably the more accurate term. It went against what he was taught to accept the help of this elven woman. Magic unrestrained by the Circle was dangerous. What did it matter really? He and the Maker were already on shaky ground as it was. If anything he was owed some damn hocus pocus.

And as for duty? Even waiting a day or two, they would make better time on horse back then if they set out by morning. No matter what his urges, he had to be practical.

"I don't like it, but waiting is our best option. And I'll help Helena anyway I can."

oOo

Ser Gilmore had seemed momentarily dejected when he'd learned the _Hahren_ had only been able to acquire two horses. A fine pair of geldings. It meant that the larger steed would be carrying two passengers. It had been quickly decided that Helena would have a mount to herself, as she was near the size of a man. And had thusly refused to travel in the same saddle as Vhaaja. The Wilder thought it just as well, the majesty the knight felt towards the 'noble' beasts was lost on her. For the fact that she'd never ridden one before and the thought of being at the creature's mercy terrified her. Call her a coward, but her fear was for good reason. Sometimes beasts didn't take to her readily. She suspected it was because they could sense the same strangeness to her that piqued the interest of Templars. Leading Vhaaja to believe it was a honed skill rather then a talent bestowed upon them by their Maker in return for their vows.

As the knight helped her into the saddle, she caught his grin. "So your mother was an elf, there is a joke in there somewhere. I'm sure of it."

Her breath near hitched at the instant of familiarity that lingered between them. The genuine, good humored amusement within his green-eyed gaze stirring something within her heart as well as her loins. She blamed the loins part entirely on Desire. It was odd to see him with the bastard sword on his back, his shoulder had started to mended in a way that the _Hahren_ could not reverse. There would always be a weakness to it now. Another casualty. He'd acted relieved to be rid of the abysmal bear shield. How was it one could be both a realist and an optimist? She'd never seen the traits melded so favorably as she did in the red-headed knight.

"If you treat me any differently, I will bleed you while you sleep," her tone more jest than warning, but that was in it as well. She'd bled men for less.

"Right. Angry vengeful side. If that doesn't set my mind at ease I fear nothing will," he bantered back. It was then the door to the house slammed shut. Announcing the imminent arrival of their third. His gaze went to her, his mood shifting. Vhaaja herself found what was left of her give a damn concerning others directed at the woman. She didn't appear fragile. She was a warrior, she'd seen that in her from their first meeting. A well made blade and a shield with the Highever device were at her back. Vhaaja found herself hoping she could use them half as well as Ser Gilmore had claimed.

The demon of course was eager to be gone, wanderlust taking grip of her whenever they lingered too long.

"If you and I are indeed, _friends,_" he used the word gingerly, like he couldn't find an adequate description for their relationship." I would ask you to be civil with Helena. Call it a favor, even. She has always been a bit…"

"Pious?" she supplied, earning a nod and a smile from Ser Gilmore. She could behave herself if she had the want. With that he moved to meet Helena, as Vhaaja settled herself better into the saddle.

oOo

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me. I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure," Helena whispered as she walked towards the pair that would be her traveling companions. Until they reached Ostagar at any rate. She longed for the arms of her husband around her once more. That moment when they embraced, that would be her Light.

The pity as they looked upon her stirred an anger in her breast. She was aware that it was expected of her to be a sobbing slip of herself. And though it hurt beyond measure, so much it was difficult to breath at times, who was she to question His will. Maybe He had taken mercy on the her child, these were not favorable times. A blight could very well be stirring in the south, despite all the insistence to the contrary. The Warden knew better than any on that score she believed. Many children would starve before the land was put back to right If it was ever to be right again after the taint spread across Ferelden, like spilt blood expanding outward in a pristine pool.

Whatever the reason, she was at His side.

Yes, a daughter. Exactly what she'd hoped for. While her husband had been keeping his fingers crossed for a strapping son. She felt the sharpness in her chest, the tightening of her heart as she thought about the child that'd been taken from her. She was glad now that she'd decided not to see the stillborn babe. It wouldn't have brought her closure. Only an image to haunt her sleep. Like that of the first man she'd killed. It would only prove to darken her blackest moments further. Within her already clashing tides roiled within her. It was not proving easy to give everything up to the Maker. But she'd rather believe in His plan being too vast for the mortal eye to comprehend than to ponder the other option.

That all of what happened was without meaning. That was a despair she wouldn't allow herself to fathom.

Aside from her husband, Rory was her dearest friend. And definitely the friendship which she'd held the longest. He looked so uncomfortable as she approached, but he moved to meet her. Helena could tell he longed to comfort her, that her brave face wasn't fooling him. Yet she thought of the bloated bodies that still hanged over the village's outer walls. Andraste's Mercy had seen that Helena was not among them and that was comfort enough. She would not waste that fortune, even if it didn't feel like a boon at the moment.

His eyes full of sorrow, sympathy met her own icy stare. He opened his mouth, but it was Helena's words that came first, "Don't. The only person I will speak of it with will be my husband. Until then I will let the Maker's light guide me."

That was when Helena heard a soft snort. Her eyes followed the noise, past Rory, to the heathen he'd brought with him. Invited into her home even. She was thankful that she'd been there to aid in her friend's escape from Howe's treachery but that did not mean she would tolerate open mockery towards Him, His Prophetess, or His Chantry. Blessed were those that stood before the wicked and did not falter.

"I would appreciate if you'd keep your opinions on such matters _silently_ to yourself, savage," She said, pushing past her softly swearing friend friend to glare up at the mounted woman.

The Wilder brazenly grinned at Helena, a lopsided expression of candid amusement. Like a wolf hidden amongst the guileless flock. It was almost as if the woman was seeing Helena for the first time, she examined her with such dedicated scrutiny. Finally she said at length, her words at the edge of civility. Over sweet to be considered polite. "Very well. As long as you take such to heart as well, savage."

Blessed Andraste give her strength not to kill this woman. If she could have been anymore eager to arrive at Ostagar, the Wilder woman had seen to it. It was going to be a long trip.

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**a/n:** All right how did I do? I was extremely nervous about this chapter. I hadn't intended to expose Vhaaja's elven heritage this soon but if you've played DA:2 and seen Feynriel its pretty obvious to me what his heritage is. I can't image one who knows what to look for over looking it. I welcome all your thoughts, via review and PM if needed. The next chapter will bring us out of the Highever Arc.

Oh and I used some quotes from the Chant of Light. I don't own them. But you get +5 for knowing them.


	4. Surrender

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part One: Demon's Mark**  
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**Chapter Four: Surrender  
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He put every ounce of strength he had into the swing. With a heavy _thunk_ the crude blade bit into the soft wood, the force of the strike stinging his hands. He'd left his armor in a pile beside his bedroll at camp. It felt good to be free of it, he now stood in a tunic, trousers and boots. He wretched the sword from the trunk with a few choice curses. It was a piss poor way to treat a weapon. A dull edge would do him no favors. But at this point, he was at his limit of caring. He had to hit something, or like everything else he'd fall apart.

One important detail he'd stupidly overlooked about horses was how their rarity would mark those traveling on them as wealthy targets. Three riders were hardly threatening enough to make brigands think twice, especially in the dark times they were living. Maybe if he hadn't ridden the horses so hard they'd have detected the bandits. Vhaaja's skills were hardly effective on horseback. In fact the poor girl had spent her time with her arms in a death grip about his waist and her face pressed to his back. She'd clung to him harder still as arrows took the horse. She'd recovered quickly, setting upon the men with her own volley as her feet held solid ground. The would be bandits had probably meant to take their mounts alive, but like defending their lives had been unsuccessful. Dispatching them hadn't made the horses any less dead, but it had made him feel slightly better.

Now the very sky itself looked as if it was about to open up and drown them all to keep them from arriving at Ostagar with any haste. He hoped the Maker was laughing and getting his fill this cruel joke. Worse was the anger that wouldn't let him rest, the frustration at the futility of it all.

"Are you alright?" came the unusually soft voice of his Chasind companion. Her concern seemed genuine, even if her general contempt for mankind was boundless. Were all women such blatantly contrary he wondered.

That precious span of time, when all had seemed to be going their way, was filled with the feel of her stiff frame relaxing against him as she gained confidence in his horsemanship. It had amused him at the time, that she was so afraid of the beast. The mighty Vhaaja, slayer of men, brought to a quaking puddle by a mild mannered gelding. He'd have called her fearless before that, unshakeable. Now she was human and at times vulnerable. Of course the Wilder herself would still assert that she was afraid of nothing. She was proud, cruel and impulsive. She was also clever, loyal and tenacious. Andraste save him, he was starting to think of Vhaaja in a different light. As a beautiful woman that wasn't quite as hardened as she portrayed herself to be.

"The Maker seems set against us," he replied, pushing the tip of the weapon into the earth. He turned towards her, and leaned casually against the tree. Her steps barely audible, the distance between them closed. She slid next to him against the tree, playfully bumping him with her shoulder.

"Sometimes rain is just rain, my people might see it as a bad omen. They see omens in everything, bunch of ambiguous rubbish if you ask me. Its one of the things I don't miss," she replied as her small fingers interlaced with his. It was rough, covered in old nicks and scars. The hand of a practiced archer, a warrior woman. He glanced at her with a lopsided grin despite his foul mood. Having her this close reminded him keenly that it had been some time since he allowed himself the comfort of a woman.

Helena used to joke that it was because of his undying affection for _the Spitfire_. He'd never dissuaded her of the notion. The real reason wasn't quite so romantic, sounding weak at best when spoken aloud. His father was the most virile man in the Bannorn, capable getting a woman with child with a sultry stare. Or so the stories went. It had been a slow death for Roland's proud mother. He refused to be the type of man his father was. Yet for all noble intent, he was still just a man.

He wondered briefly, what Vhaaja would do if she decided she wanted something. The answer was clear, she'd take it.

He leaned in and caught her mouth with his. She tasted almost herbal, skin and spice. She pressed against him fiercely, drinking him in as he did her. Her own want matching his. His arms wrapped around her on their own accord. As he drew away she bit his bottom lip gently. If he hadn't wanted to bed her before, he certainly did now. Her dark eyes smoldered with desire and wicked intent. A jolt of excitement coursed through him, stirring his manhood. Jerking beneath his trousers. Her chortle signified that she'd taken notice, and had enjoyed it. An instant later he had her pinned against the tree with his hips, his need pressed against her belly.

The first drops of rain found them then, finding their way through the canopy of green above. She writhed against him as lust coiled around him. His mind became focused only on the sight of her skin, her intoxicating scent and her leg moving up his side in eager display of her readiness. Her hands reached under his tunic, then she stiffened suddenly. He looked to her, but Vhaaja's attention was fully focused on something behind them. Or someone, he wagered.

"So this is where you two have gotten," came the highly amused voice of Helena. Immediately he stepped back from Vhaaja. His face turned a special shade of beet.

Vhaaja sighed heavily, putting her leathers back to rights as she glared daggers in Helena's direction. She moved passed him, shrugging wistfully. As she did he turned to face Helena as well. Vhaaja slinked passed the woman without so much as a word. In her usual way, the Wilder simply didn't care what anyone thought of her. It was that Roland envied.

"Do you have any idea where that's been?" Helena asked with a wide grin, her laughter barely contained.

"At our side every step of the way," he replied, briskly.

"You're right, that was petty of me. You have my word, next time I won't go looking when I notice you're both missing," Helena said walking abreast of him as they moved slowly back to camp.

"Thank-you," he replied, feeling the his cheeks burn again.

Helena threw her arm around his shoulder as she said, "What are friends for?"

oOo

Desire was cranky. It'd been weeks since she'd fed. It was the kind of thing that made a demon testy, and show their true colors. That their attempt to remedy that was thwarted only thickened her foul mood. If Desire wasn't happy, Vhaaja wasn't happy. It was as simple as that. She kept her anger and contempt thinly veiled just below the surface, threatening to erupt at the slightest provocation.

_-Next time you **won't** fail, If you ever hope to be rid of that mark that is- _the demon seethed at Vhaaja. The storm had slowed their progress south. It had seemed to follow them for days until it finally stopped. She certainly wasn't going to rut around in the muck like a beast to satisfy the demon.

Her fingers subconsciously traced the mark at her wrist. Flemeth hadn't elaborated satisfactorily on what would happen if she died with a mark still owed to the demon. The balance would be paid, the Witch had cackled. Whatever that meant, it didn't sound pleasant. For now she ignored the demon, if she was done playing nice then so too was Vhaaja. Her mind was needed for another task besides.

The covered wagon was tipped on it's side, various house wares tossed about haphazardly. The scent of blood mixed with the foul stench of darkspawn, an odor akin to a rotting corpse doused in sewage. Helena and Roland had gagged when they'd first approached. Vhaaja's eyes watered, but it was her only outward sign of her discomfort. It seemed unlikely that there were any survivors, but Ser Gilmore had insisted on checking regardless. Vhaaja kept her eye out for anything easy to scavenge. She imagined that her companions might frown upon her stealing from the dead, even her own people would frown upon it and say she was likely to bring a curse upon herself. It wasn't like they needed it anymore, and she couldn't stomach seeing it go to waste or letting the darkspawn benefit.

"Be careful. Don't touch them. Even dead they can poison your blood," Vhaaja warned her group as they stepped over the black twisted corpses of slain darkspawn. How long they'd been there was hard to gauge. They didn't rot the same as other corpses. The Wilder pulled the purple scarf from her brow and had tied to cover her nose and mouth. She didn't know if it would do any good, but she had seen those afflicted with the taint before. It was a slow painful thing. She swallowed down her fear. Would she be strong enough to end her own life if needed? Or if she'd have to beg another. Mother Most High, she hated asking others to do what she couldn't do herself.

"You've experience with these then?" Helena asked, using her sword lift turn a hurlock's head to examine it better.

"Some. The Chasind have been fighting these creatures for a couple years. We tried to warn your people, but…" Vhaaja shrugged. The borderland Banns had laughed actually. Ferelden hadn't started concerning themselves with the matter until the vile things were encroaching on their lands. Almost overnight it had suddenly it become something worthy of their King's attention. "We are close to Lothering, that's about two days from Ostagar."

"Real question is why they are up this far," voiced Ser Gilmore, tone ominous.

Before anyone could answer, there was a growl. It came seemingly nowhere and everywhere. Helena nearly ran and was the first around to the other side of the wagon. When she called upon her Maker to protect her, Ser Gilmore rushed to her side. Vhaaja said her own prayer, trapped underneath the wagon was a man. He was deathly pale, but his chest rose with breath. His face seemed hallow, dark veins reaching up through his pallor. His head lulled back and dark rings circled beneath his eyes.

Vhaaja pulled an arrow from her quiver, hoping someone would do the same for her if she ever found herself in such a way. A bark pulled her attention from the sickly man to the dark coated Mabari that lay across his midsection.

"We need to help this poor man, give me a hand?" Helena asked. Vhaaja thought it was funny how the woman's questions often had the ring of command to them. As Helena moved to check his pulse, his hand grasped her around the wrist. Helena shrieked and jerked her arm from the man, but still his fingers held her firm. Ser Gilmore sprung to action, prying his fingers until Helena was finally free.

"Ostagar, Lothering, Ferelden. Lost," the man sputtered and writhed.

"What did you mean? About Ostagar?" Ser Gilmore asked, getting as close to the inflicted man as he dared.

What came was a story dotted by gibberish. After several tries, they'd pieced together that Ostagar had been a disaster. King Cailan had been lost. That Teryn Loghain had managed to save a part of his troops, or had pulled out leaving the young King to his death; it was hard to discern which. The Wardens too had fallen. Soon Lothering would be consumed by the horde as well.

Vhaaja trained her bow on him, pulling the nocked arrow back and ready put the poor sod out of his misery.

"Murder that man and it'll be the last thing you do," Helena threatened, drawing her weapon as she noticed Vhaaja's intent.

"It isn't murder, its mercy. Its what their blood does, it corrupts," Vhaaja argued. The Mabari lifted itself up, standing over it's master protectively. Damnable intelligent dogs, it probably understood what they were talking about.

"How can you be certain, he might come around with a bit of water and some food. No telling how long he's been here," Ser Gilmore asserted and stood in front of her. His days of following her direction without question long behind them. She almost shot him to prove the gesture had little meaning. That she didn't she considered personal growth. "We have to try."

"I wish I could live in this fantasy of yours, but I see the truth of it. Bringing that man with us will invite trouble. Either let me end this man's life, or I wash my hands of you both," Vhaaja replied at length. She placed the arrow back in her quiver, and eyed them both like foolish children.

"If that's how you feel, then maybe you should go," he said coldly, the jagged ice of his tone cutting into her heart. "We don't need you anymore. Anything we could have been to each other died at Ostagar."

And go she did, without so much as a word. Like she should have in the beginning. Walking away was what she was best at, she mused humorlessly to herself.

oOo

Something in himself died as Roland brought his blade down through the screaming man's sternum, despite Helena's protests. Blood splattered upwards, covering his face in crimson droplets. He pulled the sword up, placing his boot on the dead man to pry his body from it. The weapon came free with the sound of wet suction. The sickening noise had his stomach rebelling. He'd crossed a line He'd never imagined he'd have to. He was a knight, he'd killed men before. But that had been in honorable combat, or to protect others. It was a different thing to slaughter an innocent man whose only crime had been to contract the taint. What was one more face to haunt his sleep, he mused bitterly.

"Don't look at me like I'm a monster," he leveled on Helena. His tone was much harsher then he intended, but he wasn't about to apologize. He softened his voice as he continued, sounding raw, "He wasn't getting any better. We tried. But him carrying on like that might get us killed yet. There are worse then wolves in the shadows this night."

Maker he missed Vhaaja. Had he actually said they didn't need her? Of all the pigheaded things to say. But she'd given him an ultimatum, and he hated ultimatums. Had he expected her stay after he'd said that? Part of him must have to feel abandoned by her doing so. He'd come to rely on the brazen Chasind woman, that was the truth of it. Without Vhaaja's keen senses and survival instincts he couldn't say they weren't already being surrounded.

"You're right, I'm being silly," Helena said finally, pulling the soldier in her to the forefront. He couldn't blame her. It was very possible she'd lost her husband in the mess at Ostagar. She still hadn't wanted to talk about it, choosing to take company with the Mabari. His gaze went to the dog laying with its paw over its eyes, whining softly. He'd expected the dog to attack him. Maybe it'd known it was for the best as well. It was hard to tell how much Mabari understood. "We should stay alert, and be ready to move at first light."

For a moment Roland thought they'd gotten lucky. That they'd managed to quell the man's screams in time. Yet despite his silent prayers to the Maker, it wasn't long before darkspawn erupted from the brush around them. It was a small band, a pair of tall ones and a shorter one. The Mabari came to their side, no more willing to die meekly then the knights. Weapons drawn, stance held they made ready to fight the charging spawn.

Before they reached the pair an arrow sunk into the earth in front of the mob. Icy blue tendrils snaked out from the arrow grasping the darkspawn. The next instant two of the three spawn were encased in ice. Frozen, grotesque statues. The third was slowed. Another arrow took it in the side, finishing the job. He saw her then, slinking out of the bush with the ferocity of any predator. As she filled one of the tall ones with arrows, a hurlock he would later learn, Helena and he each took a frozen target. They didn't come apart as easily as men. He loathed to think what actually fighting them would be like.

After the darkspawn were dispatched, he moved to Vhaaja who was collecting her arrows from the corpses.

"I thought you left," he stated, plucking an arrow and handing it to her.

"I meant to, trust me. I used to be very good at running away," she mused, finding humor in her own words. She snatched the arrow and wiped the blood off carefully with a swatch of cloth before depositing it in her quiver.

"But not now?"

"Apparently I'm a different person,"

"Aren't we all?" he responded at length.

oOo

There was so much hurt and hate in him. Vhaaja knew that for a span of time, she could steal it away. Sometimes it was what one truly needed, a reprieve from the pain. He wasn't a man given to excess of any kind, it was unlikely he'd find his solace in drink. Instead she soothed him with her body, taking just as much comfort from his.

His hand brushed wisps of hair from her face. She brought her lips to the pad of his thumb as it passed by her mouth. The taste of his rough skin made her core throb with need. He pulled her down to him, locking her into a strong embrace against his well muscled chest. The sight of his ruddy skin against her sent her senses reeling. Sky Mother's mercy, she relished the feel of him surrounding her small frame. She felt less fragile there, protected. The heat of his pulsating length against her sex made her writhe with delight as he rocked his hips back and forth, teasing her mercilessly with each pass.

In a fluid, decidedly practiced, motion he rolled them both so Roland's hardened body hovered above her own. She surrendered to him, the knight enjoying his momentary hold over the Chasind savage. It seemed as if he'd done this before, thankfully, one could never tell with these valiant knight types. He took a breast roughly with his hand, massaged the mound into a peak with the pad of his calloused thumb. A moan slipped her lips as the leg between her thighs pressed deliciously against her center. He swallowed it with enough abandon to bruise her lips and click their teeth together. There was no love here, only need.

He pushed into her with a slow, firm thrust. The noise he made as he buried himself to the hilt was half way between a whimper and a prayer. Desire threaded up from the depths, thickening Vhaaja's consciousness; making her feel as if she was looking down on herself from far away. She became the demon's tool, her instrument of rapture. She bucked into his thrusts, clenching her sheath around him as he drove into her; as lost in her as Vhaaja was in Desire. It was fast, furious, glorious. There were tears, just a few, streaming down the knight's face. Vhaaja/Desire brought her hand up and dashed them away with her thumb.

Release came in a savage burst. His rhythm erratic, he pounded into her with one final intoxicatingly hard thrust that captured the perfect ecstasy cradled between pleasure and pain and groaned as he bit into her shoulder. Hot seed spilled into her. Spent, his weight descended upon her like a blanket, both of them gasped for breath. There they existed in bliss and the world faded away; leaving nothing but two bodies.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" he asked, pressing his lips to her hair once he'd collected enough breath and withal to speak.

"No in a bad way, I like it a bit rough," she quipped, feeling Desire withdraw back to the recesses of her conciousness.

"I remember. Seems like a lifetime ago," he groaned as he rolled off her. The cool air swept the last of his heat from his skin, the fantasy of flesh coming to a close. "This is a piss poor way to keep watch you realize."

"Its called multitasking," she answered tartly, and sat up. The sun peered out at them from the horizon, the Sky Mother promising a new day. Next came decisions about what happened next. Where would they go now that Ostagar was covered with darkspawn and corpses. "Besides, if anymore were coming they would be here already."

"Right," he said, pulling her down against him again. A meep escaped her, followed by the light rumble of amusement through the knight's chest. Which made a nice pillow incidentally "The longer I know you the more I suspect you make shit up as you go along and call it ancient Chasind wisdom. I'll tell you right now, I will be very cross with you if I end up dying a horrible gruesome death because you were too distracted."

"Someone thinks rather highly of themselves it seems,"

"Says pot to the kettle," he muttered with another rumble of soft laughter.

Vhaaja momentarily wondered what pots and kettles had to do with their current conversation before she disregarded it as Ferelden nonsense.

_-You should thank me for coaxing you to return,-_ Desire purred, satisfied thus congenial once again. Coaxed was too nice a word for what had transpired. The mark from Highever was gone, as if it had never been. Thinking back on it made Vhaaja feel slightly dirty as she lay with Roland. He thought she'd returned of her own volition, because her heart had softened. Yet she couldn't say for sure she wouldn't have left him to die. She might actually be that someone else she longed to be, or she might be the same old Vhaaja dancing to her demon's whimsy.

For the first time, giving Desire her due felt like a curse.

* * *

**a/n: **Alright, I'm not 100% happy with this chapter. But I think it does what its suppose to. I hope it meets with my reader's standards even so! I almost have the next part done, and will probably have it up later this week. I'm very excited.

I fixed the last scene I think.

If you noticed, yes I did change the name of the part from Highever to Demon's Mark. I thought it was fitting.


	5. Tranquil Heart

**Giving Desire her Due**

Stand Alone**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Five: Tranquil Heart  
**

* * *

It had been at one time a closet, used to store the odds and ends the Arlessa wanted out of her sight. To Jowan it was still a novelty to have his own room at all, no matter how lackluster. It was a sheer delight not to have to share a space with dozens of other apprentices. There was no one to snore, or talk in their sleep, with exception of himself of course. He didn't have to worry about accidentally looking over and catching his neighbor stroking himself none too discretely beneath his blankets.

His room even had a window that, _gasp_, opened to let in the light of day. The ones at the Circle were barricaded shut, lest some mages take their freedom on the rocky shore that surrounded the Tower. From it he could view the village below. Sometimes he watched them for hours, the little people scurrying about in their little lives all blissfully ignorant of how genuinely blessed they were. Sure, he could cry about being locked in a tower and being watched like criminal by Templars ready to separate head from shoulders at a moment's notice. But he wasn't even sure what he believed on that score, he could see validity on both sides of the argument.

What these little villagers overlooked was how sweet it would be to simply slip into oblivion when one closed their eyes. A mage was always aware. Awareness had its perks, certainly. He could shape the Fade, mold it to his liking. How many times had he used it to fulfill his desires. Like taking advantage of a comely girl he'd noticed in the Tower, or to show Irving what he really thought of him. But if a demon came to these little villagers as they slept they wouldn't know it. The demons weren't even drawn to them as they were to mages, to him.

Damnable demons and there wretched deals. He'd been such a sodding fool to trust in one, to take her deal at face value. He could feel her on the edge of his dreams for weeks before she finally came to him. Jowan knew the demons had no gender, but it had certainly looked female. She was sex, and audacity. Brazen want and seductive beauty. The demon offered him blood magic, to bring what he desired most within his grasp. In return she'd wanted a memory. Something simple, a trifle thing he'd never miss. Having taken the deal, he couldn't recall what he'd given her. He only thought himself in circles trying to figure out why she'd want such a thing. What could the demon gain from it?

What was undeniable was how he changed. How he could feel power thrumming through his veins, now that he knew what he was looking for. The demon really hadn't given him anything at all, only drawn his attention to what was already there. It seemed so simple now. Jowan wondered how other mages missed it, maybe the demon truly had opened up another sense. One that dwelled between his eyes at the center of his brow.

Why had he made such a deal? All because his best friend was better than he at magic. It hadn't even been that Jowan's own magic was especially weak. His power was on par with that of the other apprentices. His control over it had never been something of note, but still within the realm of average. But Amell took to magic as a fish took to water, or lung took to breath. It was just so easy for him to outshine Jowan. With blood added to his arsenal, maybe he could pull ahead of his friend. Yet what he'd gained in power, he'd lost in control. It was like taking three steps forward and two steps back. He'd risked becoming the very thing his mother had feared for a castle of sand. And still he could feel her in the Fade, stalking him. Waiting for that moment of weakness.

Jowan had never been particularly pious, but he knew all the steps. Some of his earliest memories were of the woman he thought loved him unconditionally tossing verses at him with venom when he'd started to show signs of being magically adept. It was hard to say if it was worse then when she stopped talking to him altogether though. Referring to him only as 'that thing' and an abomination child. The sting of these memories had long since past, he'd gone over them a thousand times trying to pull meaning from them.

Back then he'd gone so far as to create an imaginary friend to blame his magic on. Hoping desperately, as young children do, that his mother would believe him. That she would wrap him again in her embrace and tell him how gracious the Maker was because he'd given him to her. The way it was before. But he and Levyn were shortly there after deposited on the village chantry's stoop. He couldn't even remember the name of the village now or place it on a map. An item he had quickly gotten his hands on upon arrival at Redcliffe.

He thought back on how useful one would have been when he'd made his grand escape from the Circle of Magi. Bet old Irving never expected that, not from him anyway. He'd spent his hard wrought freedom lost, alone and starving. It had rained, miserably he might add, chilling him down to the very bone. Fearing illness that would surely undo him, since healing had never been his specialty, he'd finally dared to light a fire. It wasn't even that that had lead the Templar to him. He'd been defending himself from a giant, angry, hungry bear, perhaps a bit too vigorously now in hindsight.

It wasn't how he'd planned it. How they'd planned it. Tears formed as he thought of his poor, sweet Lily. Maker, he hoped she was alright. The look she'd given him, disgust and betrayal, would stay with him until the end of his days. But he'd rather carry that pain with him than feel nothing at all.

In her defense he'd known from the first time he'd heard the Chant of Light leave her lips that her love for him would never surpass that which she held for the Maker. Perhaps it had been selfish of him to attempt it. To take that which did not belong to him. Maybe it had been the very wrongness of it that had first attracted him to her, like a moth dancing ever closer to the flickering flame. He'd convinced himself he'd rather be second in her affections then not receive them at all. He could convince himself of almost anything given enough time.

Lily had only ever wanted to save him, the poor down trodden wretch cursed with magic. She'd been the only one that noticed he was drowning. That he was slipping into the black, that place where it was doubtful even Light could reach him. Jowan wondered if he wore it so plainly, or if she'd some how seen into the depths of him and caught a glimpse of how hard he was struggling. He could hardly ask her now.

However it happened, it did. But she'd misunderstood. She'd sought to save him from the very thing that was the cornerstone of who he was. He could no more stop being a mage then she could stop having red hair. She could cut it, dye it, hide it under a hat. But in the end it was still red hair, even if only she knew it. What he'd needed saving from was the feeling of inadequacy that burned constantly in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling he'd gotten before his father left him at the Chantry. Only this time he was much too old to blame it on imaginary friends.

Lily had shown him there was warmth in that cold tower if one knew where to look. A tower that got colder with each passing year as friends left him. To become Enchanters, Tranquil or never to be heard from again. They tried to keep the Harrowing a secret, but any apprentice with two wits to rub together noticed how numbers of Tranquil and Enchanters didn't add up right compared to the number of apprentices. He'd known he was going to the Rite before Lily had brought him confirmation. A mage with moderate magic power and excellent control was much less a liability than a mage with any potential for real power and moderate control.

His door creaked open, bringing Jowan from his morose thoughts. Connor entered softly, the way he nearly tip-toed in brought a smile to his lips. Another regret in the making. What was done was done, there was no taking it back. Already the Arl was showing signs of illness, which he was brushing off as a cold due to the recent change in the weather. Jowan knew better. He could have been happy here he lamented, even if Eamon was in league with the Orlesians. He enjoyed his time with Connor, teaching him how to control his gift. It was almost funny, him instructing another in control.

"Did you need something?" Jowan asked, pulling himself from the window.

"Some girl in the kitchen sent me up with these. Says she wanted to make sure you got some," he said holding out a parcel of cloth. It was still warm, Jowan noticed as he took it. Carefully he peeled back the linen to look inside. Cookies?

"That was very nice of her," he said, placing them on a nearby table stacked high with books from the Arl's library. As far as Eamon knew, Jowan was a scholar from Denerim. Lucky for him they'd taught him more then how to make his fingers sparkle at the Circle.

"Yeah, she got all giggly and weird after she handed it to me. SO, what are you going to teach me tomorrow, I hope its…" as Connor regaled him with every fantastical idea he'd ever had about magic and its application, practical or otherwise, Jowan wondered how much longer this could last.

oOo

Jowan was cuffed awake with a heavy hand. As his eyes fluttered open, he'd never before been grateful for the agony of the waking world. He clutched the pain like a lifeline, willing himself to stay conscious. Where a normal man might find reprieve in the darkness of oblivion, he found only temptation. The demon that stalked him whispering promises. There were others too, hoping to feed off the stronger demon's scraps. She could end his misery, take away his suffering and punish those responsible. Anything he desired. If only Jowan would let her in.

It would be so easy. But it would prove them right, The mother that had called him an abomination child, the woman he loved who chose the horrors of Aeonar rather than escape, all the ever watching Templars and the damned First Enchanter too. If he accepted, and let her in, he'd prove that the Rite had been the correct course. That he wasn't strong enough to resist.

Suspended from the ceiling by a hook his toes barely reached the slick stone floor. His ankles too were bound, tied to another hook driven into the stone. To keep him from thrashing as they questioned him about things he hadn't the slightest clue about. He'd have told them the sky was purple and he was the Queen of Antiva if it would have made them stop. But they had yet to be convinced. His eyes began to focus on the man in front of him, a burly bloke that had enthusiastically plied his trade at the Arlessa's behest.

He'd started by shoving wedges beneath his fingernails. Jowan was now missing several. Unsatisfied, the man had then suspended him from the ceiling naked as the day he was born. The man drank in every whimper, every scream as he applied the hot poker to his chest, abdomen, and back. Whatever dignity he'd entered with had long been stripped from him. Covered in his own piss and vomit the man had turned to one last method.

Before his hazy vision dangled a bloody strip of skin the width of two fingers, roughly the length of his thigh where it'd been flayed from. He wished they'd just kill him and get it over with.

"He ain't lookin' so good Lefty," said a man own of Jowan's sight.

"He's not nearly half dead yet, he only wishes he was. It's a neglected art form, anyone can brake a bone or carve off a finger," Lefty replied, so named for the hook where his left hand aught to be. "Still I s'pose he'd of talked by now if he knew anything."

"Still think you should cauterize that. Arlessa will flay us next if he dies, you know what she has us do to them elves just for steppin' too slow."

Lefty grumbled as he set the slick, rubbery slab of skin across Jowan's shoulder and moved out of his line of sight. The agonizing touch of the molten metal against his meat sent him spiraling back into the embrace if the abyss and into the demon's eagerly awaiting hands.

oOo

The half eaten face pressed against the bars of his cell, but all Jowan could focus on was the hook on the devouring corpse where its left hand should be. He huddled at the back, his knees drawn up as best he could manage against his chest. It'd been days since he'd been given to Lefty's tender mercies, but his body still sang with agony. He'd mended what he could, wishing he'd tried harder to master rudimentary healing spells. At least they'd given him a clean set of robes to cover himself with. It'd been a day or better since they'd given him food or water, but they seemed have more pressing issues than a prisoner's welfare.

This was a place he'd live long after he left it.

oOo

So Jowan's story was set to end in the place it began. There was a bit of poetry in it coming full circle he thought. The warden had spoken in his favor after sending him into the Fade to save Connor from his desire demon. After which his own demonic stalker had visited him with less frequency. He'd finally done something good. Instead of being executed, which Jowan had resigned himself to; he was being escorted back to the tower, in the company of four Templars and a Tranquil. A man he'd known in another life.

"I thought they weren't supposed to perform the Rite on Harrowed mages," Jowan asked as they walked. His hands tied firmly behind his back, just in case he tried something. Like four Templars wouldn't be able to be done with him quickly even if he had a head start.

"It was decided that after Uldred's attempt to usurp the Circle of Magi that I was too dangerous, having consorted with a blood mage. The Knight-Commander had sought death, but the First Enchanter convinced him the Rite was the more prudent course," he said in a monotone that used to be full of vigor and innuendo.

"I'm sorry about what I did. About lying to you, I know it doesn't mean anything now. But I had to get it off my chest before it…" was stolen from him, he wanted to finish but trailed off instead.

"I knew what I was getting into when you asked. Guile was never your strong suit," There was no accusation in his tone, which was worse than if there had been.

Yet another regret, but he figured he'd soon be no more capable of regret than Amell was capable of being upset over what Jowan had inadvertently done to him. Had he really thought at one time that feeling anything was better than feeling nothing at all? Jowan wasn't so sure anymore.

See, he knew he could convince himself of anything.

"I have to ask, what happened to Lily?" The familiar ache in his chest flared as he thought of her.

"The Templars took her, and I was confined afterwards." and that answered that. There would always be a piece of him that belonged to her. No, not always, he reminded himself. That'd get stolen too.

"What is it like, being Tranquil?"

"I find this state agreeable. I remember before, what you said. It isn't nearly as bad as I imagined. That Tranquility was just another form of death is a misconception born of fear. Now there is no fear."

"Or dreams," he sighed.

"Or demons."

* * *

**a/n:** I hope I did Jowan justice. I'd love to thank my lovely Beta, Sesegirl. Also much love to my reviewers, ArcturasB, Josie Lange, Shakespira and Saga Svanhildr.


	6. Merry Band

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part Two: Blood Oath**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Merry Band  
**

* * *

"We can't go to Redcliffe," Roland said stretching.

"Why? Because the Wilder got a tingle in her left toe that told her the Veil was thin?"

"That's nonsense," but Roland chuckled anyway.

"How did she know it then? Little bird whisper it to her? She is elf-blooded, maybe the trees sang it to her, hmm? Only mages should know about things of that nature. If she was a mage the least she could do was stop hiding it as throw a few healing spells our way."

"She isn't a mage. I've told you that going on the hundredth time. Her shaman was though. They were close from what I gather. Maybe she learned something from him."

"A Maleficar no doubt. Who made her our fearless leader anyway?"

"Don't be like that. We all get an equal say,"

"What say did I get when it was decided we were going to start calling ourselves the Merry Band?"

"What, we're the pinnacle of merriment. All smiles all the time."

"Do you forget who I am? That we've been friends for going on a decade? Its from one of those stories your grandfather used to tell you," It seemed only fitting, his adventure had started out with giant rats after all.

"Well Vhaj liked it, and you got to name the Mabari,"

"No. _Vhaaja_ didn't give a shit. There is a difference. And Spitfire is a right perfect name for a bitch," she scoffed. "Besides its not equal if you always side with her. Are you afraid she'll run off again? Is that it?"

"She isn't going to run off again," he defended solidly. "It was strictly a one time thing."

"Then its because she's polishing your sword?" she said then laughed as burning red crept up his face. "Awe, how cute. Thought you two were being discrete then? Tent walls aren't that thick. Now you've made me lose my train of thought."

"There was a point to this rant then?" he asked as she tapped her lips with her finger as she thought. Her eyes lit up suddenly, remembering to her original purpose.

"Yes. We can't keep collecting refugees with no where to take them. I know you don't want to, but if not Redcliffe then-"

"If you are thinking what I think you are thinking, it's a glorified farmstead. The sheep outnumber the people."

"A glorified farmstead with a castle Rory! Might be the time to sack up and go home to daddy,"

He hesitated. "We'll bring it up when Vhaj gets back,"

"You know what it sounds like when you call her that right? Where did she disappear to this time anyway? Mr. she won't run off again?"

"You ask that like I'm her keeper and should know,"

"Guess, hasn't bedding her given you the tiniest bit of insight into the workings of that savage brain of hers?"

"Only that it's a dark, twisty place. I doubt _Vhaj_ knows what _Vhaj_ is going to do one moment to the next," each time inflecting the Wilder's nickname like a weapon at Helena. It was childish how much delight he took from watching her squirm.

"I really wish you'd stop calling her that."

oOo

Vhaaja narrowed her eyes at the approaching group. Four Templars, two robed men and a pack mule probably on their way to Kinloch Hold. There was a joke here somewhere, she was sure of it, the humor of a situation rarely evaded the small Chasind woman. One of the robed men led the mule, his head was shaved, leaving only a thin layer of color. That was how they marked the Tranquil. They had always unnerved her to say the very least. They set in motion thoughts on how one could live without passion. Was it really living, she would ponder. It was a vicious cycle of thought that she couldn't readily shrug off.

The other robed man was a haggard wretch of a thing. He walked with his eyes cast to the earth, his hands tied tightly behind his back. Memories from a nearly forgotten life surged to the front of her mind. Vhaaja found herself longing to free the mage. She chided herself for being foolish, she didn't know him. And the last mage she'd tried to help had left her to the Templars. After a moment she decided if he was that dangerous they wouldn't be escorting him back to the Circle Tower. He'd have met a swift death by Templar blade. Desire agreed, her consciousness pricking at recesses of Vhaaja's mind. The demon had felt Templar steel before. More then once. In the cold shadow of the Chantry just being born magically adept was reason enough to separate one from society.

It wasn't how the Chasind worked. Their mages, their god-touched, were cherished, considered sacred gifts from the Sky Mother. A promise to her children that she loved them, and hadn't forgotten them.

Fact of the matter was, her merry little band would benefit greatly from a mage. Especially if he was a healer. Even if he wasn't, there were more and more darkspawn making their way through Ferelden and a fireball wouldn't go unappreciated. She couldn't in good conscience let this opportunity pass her by.

Her bow was already in her hand, she'd been in search of some sort of game to add to the stew pot. Instead she'd found Templars. She never minded a chance stick it to the Chantry and their Circle of Magi, however. If she were lucky they'd have rations in their belongings she could liberate along with the mage. Vhaaja pulled an arrow out of her quiver. Before nocking it she brought her hand to her mouth and bit into the meaty heel of her hand just below her thumb. The pain was minimal, it was something she was used to. Blood oozed from the wound readily. She brushed the wound against one of the various runes that decorated her large bow leaving a crimson smear in its wake. Dozens of them had been burnt into the light wood. Many already had a reddish brown caste, marking them as ones she'd spent previously.

Immediately the bow was swallowed in a glow of brown light. When Vhaaja pulled the arrow back, the glow enveloped it as well. Silently a prayer to the Lady of the Sky left her lips before her fingers released. The arrow sank into the ground in the middle of the group. Hopefully that would cover them all.

Suddenly the group slumped to the ground, all but one of the Templars. Vhaaja counted it as a stroke of luck, she'd honestly been counting on more then one of the Templars to resist the sleep spell. It was a pity for him though, if he'd gone down with the rest she wouldn't have had to kill him. Quickly she bloodied another rune and let fly another arrow, this time the glow a purplish blue. The arrow hit the helm, ricocheting off the heavy metal. A grunt echoed from the Templar, before he joined the rest in the dirt.

"That's what we call a 'Templar Killer'," she sighed to herself with a smug smile. She wasn't completely sure how it worked, something about air pressure and force Brambled Path had tried to explain once. It was a difficult spell, she remembered, and the last he'd learned to weave into her bow. She only had one of those left now. Steadily she was using all the spells. When they were exhausted she'd be just another archer, she'd have to be more careful. All the more reason to go collect the mage she'd just set free.

Vhaaja moved quickly, there was no telling how long the Templars would be down. She came upon the Tranquil first, laying on his stomach in a peaceful looking slumber. It would be, wouldn't it? Since they didn't dream. She dropped to her knees beside him and pulled the collar of his robes down. Nestled at the nape of his neck above his shoulder blades was the lyrium brand. _Why is this one different..._ she wondered to herself before standing again. There was much on Thedas she would never know, but the secrets of Tranquility were what she wanted to the most. She pushed him on his back with her foot, he'd been handsome when he'd been whole. She could see it in his strong jaw line and cheekbones. For a moment she wondered if it really was their soul the Circle took. Her people were a superstitious lot after all, the Chasind believed passion was in the soul. But she'd never heard a shaman say as much. She didn't know what to believe on that score.

"Don't you dare touch him!" The other mage said. She turned her head towards him a smile tugging at the corners. How he was even awake amused her, that he threatened her made it difficult for her not to laugh.

"Or what mage?" She asked, placing a hand on her hip and jerking her head at him defiantly.

"Or I'll set your hair on fire!" He answered. There was something there in his gray-eyed gaze that stilled her laughter. She saw determination there, behind the weariness. She saw a man willing to risk his life to defend a Tranquil. She knew that feeling, this was someone he'd known before his Rite.

She clucked her tongue three times shaking her head. "You are stronger then you look, but you are little threat with your hands tied behind your back. Besides I'm not your enemy, my intent was to free you."

"Let me enlighten you as to what happened the **last** time I was free. Starved, lost, alone attacked by a bear. A bloody bear! Then the Templar, smited me during my very impressive victory dance over said bear's corpse I might add. Do you know what a smite feels like-"

"It doesn't tickle," she interrupted his tirade. He was silent for a moment, as if examining her more closely.

"You don't feel like a mage. My gut says mage. But its like you are hollow where your magic should be. I can see why you have trouble with Templars."

"They have more trouble with me," she replied, her gaze passing over the Templars strewn about them.

"So I see. The short of it is I'm on my way back to the Circle to face the consequences for what I've done," he said, his tone firm. Resigned, as if his fate were set in stone and there was no other option.

_-There is more to this, but we should be gone quickly. The Templars will not sleep forever-_ Desire spoke at the back of her mind.

"If your crimes are so horrific, what fate do you think awaits for you at the Circle?" She asked. While he said nothing, that his eyes drifted to the Tranquil at her feet did not escape Vhaaja's notice. "The _Rite_ of Tranquility? They'll call it mercy perhaps."

"Maybe it is. Look at him," he gestured to the Tranquil. "He's going to brush himself off and say something unnerving like 'that was uncomfortable,' then go about his day counting leaves or thinking about whatever Tranquil think about. His regrets can't hurt him anymore, I've done and caused terrible things. There is only so much a man can take. Its not like I'll mind once its done."

"Sounds like you are convincing yourself, not me."

In the silence that echoed between them, words from another time rang through her head.

"_What could be worse than death, my child?" Flemeth had asked through a crazed toothy grin._

"Tranquility," she whispered. Tch, the ache. Would it never cease? "is only painful for those left behind. Its why it is selfish to submit yourself to it. You should fight it. With every fiber of your being. For the people who care about you, if not yourself."

"I'm a mage. No one cares about me, only one who did is sporting a lyrium brand."

"Then I'll care," her voice cracked as she said it, raw and vulnerable.

"Are you crying?"

Angry hot tears streamed down her face. She'd been so wrapped up within herself she hadn't noticed them before. Vhaaja hadn't cried in a very long time. She wiped them away quickly with the back of her free hand. How dare this stranger invoke such a thing.

"No. Follow me. Or don't. I'm not going to force you," Vhaaja finished as she cut his bonds.

"I don't have much choice. Remember that part about being lost, starved and chased by an angry bear? And they'll shear my head from my shoulders soon as they wake up if I stay. They've been itching for an excuse, thank-you very much," he hissed, the blood rushing back to his hand not an pleasant experience.

"I am Vhaaja by the way," she said sheathing her dagger.

"Jowan, I'd shake your hand or something but it'll have to wait until I can feel them again."

"We should start moving. The Templars should be out for a time yet, but one can never tell with the likes of them. They could break it early, and awaken at any moment."

"Not that one, poor sod doesn't look like he'll be jumping up anytime soon," he said as they passed the dead Templar. A pool of blood spread outward from his helm. "Maker's Breath, what did you do to him?"

"He resisted," she said with a shrug as she went through the supplies tied to the pack mule. After transferring a few items, Vhaaja moved away from the Templars trusting that he would follow. She spared a glance back, he was already falling behind. Of course he was, she sighed heavily. She'd almost forgotten what terrible condition he was in. She slowed a bit, but kept the pace challenging. Hopefully Rory and Helena would welcome him. They were both Ferelden through and through. With that came an unhelpful paranoia of everything magical, by courtesy of the Chantry.

She'd picked a good spot for their camp, a fact she was more grateful for now that she was bringing a back the mage. She should have killed them all, she thought. Then they wouldn't have been able to follow them. But killing sleeping men was a line she wasn't willing to cross. Not yet. She still had a few shreds of humanity, and she was keen on keeping them.

"I thought I was going to have to come after you," came the subdued male tone she'd gotten used to over the last couple of weeks. "What is it you got there? Another stray? He looks as if he's going to collapse."

"I can't help myself, you know that. Said to myself, one more and it's a party. He's a mage at that. Jowan, this is Ser Gilmore. Rory this is Jowan. Check and see if we have something clean for him to wear. I'll need some poultices, I think I tucked away a lyrium potion we picked off an emissary. None of us will need it, but maybe our new friend can find a use for it." Vhaaja watched the redheaded man physically stiffen. But he didn't ask questions, for some reason or another he simply trusted that she knew best. Or was unwilling to fight her on it. Either way suited Vhaaja just fine.

It was Helena that came jogging back with a bundle tucked under her arm. She was a stalwart, yet easy natured woman. Vhaaja had quickly come to like her despite their theological differences. "Rory said You had need of these. He is a bit on the slight side isn't he," she said handing over the bundle.

"This is Ser Helena," Vhaaja introduced and passed the clothing to the mage. From the expression the stern woman was wearing, it wasn't hard to tell that she was upset. She was not about to apologize for helping Jowan escape the Templars. If she could free every mage from their grasp she would, if only for the pains it would cause the Chantry.

"Take issue with the mage do you?" she asked bluntly. Vhaaja wasn't the type to dance around an issue.

"Only where you acquired him. You know the Templars can track mages…" Helena's dark eyes widened in sudden surprise, "Being Chasind you wouldn't know that though would you?"

"Don't be foolish, the only way to track a person magically is by their blood. Doesn't your Chant say something about blood magic being evil and damning all those that use it?" Vhaaja let out an exasperated sigh. "Yet it would be just like the Chantry to use what they preach against, given it suits their own purposes. I can go after them, the Templars couldn't have gotten that far."

"That's actually not an issue…I…ah…destroyed my phylactery before I escaped the Circle…actually," his voice came sheepishly. Both Vhaaja and Helena turned their heads to regard Jowan. After a moment Vhaaja nodded, and the other woman stalked back to the camp.

"Well, that's a relief, saves me a bit of leg work tonight." she chimed happily, " There is a stream that way if you wish to stink less…" Vhaaja wrinkled her nose and pointed past their campfire. "When you come back we can get you fed and let you get some sleep. Everything else can wait until morning."

oOo

Vhaaja glared at Roland for a lengthy span, her eyes dangerously narrowed. "So this _whole_ time, you've been a lord's son?"

"A minor lord's son. Too far down in birth order to hope for anything but a parcel of land an a pair of sheep. You make it sound as if I'm the secret bastard son of King Maric and prince of all Ferelden. I'm not by the way, a bastard."

"But why not just tell me?" she said, only feigning annoyance. He hoped.

"What could you possibly have done with that information?"

"Would your family have given me a reward?"

"And that's the reason I didn't tell you," he joked.

"Wait wait, I think you missed the part where I'd be rich. And get to wear a fancy dress,"

"You want a fancy dress?"

"All girls want a fancy dress!"

"When we get there, I'll get you a fancy dress and we can call it even,"

"What about the rich part,"

"I can offer you a pair of sheep, other then that your life is richer for knowing me eh?" he said, nudging her with his elbow.

"Fine, but it had better be a purple fancy dress. With ruffles."

* * *

**a/n:** Double chapter update today. Because Jowan and Vhaaja write themselves. I hope you enjoyed!


	7. Feels Like Home

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part Two: Blood Oath**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Feels Like Home  
**

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He felt almost human again, now that all the filth had been cleansed from his body. Jowan brought a hand to his face and shook his head. There was nothing he could do about the state of, what he would call a beard if he was in fact capable of growing one. As it was, it was an unkempt atrocity that grew in patches. He longed for a spell to fix it, but he could no more magic away the scraggly hair then he could wish himself clean. It wasn't what magic was for.

The morning had been full of Ser Gilmore directing him in morning tasks. Mostly packing and hauling, neither of which he showed promise in. But he'd given it the good old Circle Tower try. They hadn't expected manual labor of the mages at the Tower. That work was reserved for the newly Tranquil or doled out as punishment. With exception to dabbling in forbidden arts, divesting a chantry sister of her vows and giving the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander the laugh as he escaped the Tower, Jowan had been a well behaved apprentice. He'd done as he was told. He hadn't made waves. He'd respected his elders, mostly. Well, to their faces at any rate.

As he continued under the knight's watchful, but gentle hand, Jowan kept hoping he'd catch sight of Vhaaja. A night of decent sleep and a meal had seemed to make the world a bit brighter than the day before. His initial response to her valiant rescue hadn't been graceful, and he feared he might have come off a tad unappreciative of her efforts. The woman had killed a Templar, for Andraste's sake. For him. And what had been his witty riposte? Thanks, but no thanks. I'd rather be Tranquil. It was a response born of too much time spent forcing himself to submit to the inevitable. He hadn't allowed himself to even contemplate options other than returning to the Circle of Magi and accepting whatever fate they decided for him. Every time he'd fought it, he'd only made things worse. He'd ruined not only his own life, but that of the woman he loved and his best friend. Not to mention the lives ruined at Redcliffe.

The end hadn't justified the means.

When Jowan finally asked Ser Gilmore where the Wilder had gotten to, he replied that she'd gone ahead to scout their route before dawn. They started out as soon as the camp was pulled up. Added to Vhaaja and her companions, there were fifteen or so men, women and a couple children. They eyed him wearily, but eased after Ser Gilmore's assurances that they'd be thankful to have him. He didn't elaborate on the point, but they'd figure it out sooner or later.

"You are walking weird, are you alright?" asked a voice, snapping him out of his swirling thoughts. She'd probably been there for a minute or better, but to him it seemed as if she'd materialized beside him. Her voice was sunny, and personable. It was hard to believe this woman had put a Templar down with less feeling then most people when they swatted a fly.

"I feel funny in trousers is all," he answered, looking at her sidelong from the corner of his eye.

"Which brings me to the question: Why is it when you Circle mages slip the Tower none of you are smart enough to change your attire. You are aware that robes scream 'Mage. Right here. This guy.' right?" she asked with a wry smirk, clearly amused by her own ponderings. She was kind of a pretty thing when she wasn't trying so hard to play the savage.

"Not like we can hide, Templars know a mage when they see one. Might as well be comfortable," he answered candidly. Already there was a connection between the two of them. As different as they were, there was something that drew him to her. A quality he couldn't quite name. He just longed to know more about her.

Instead of an immediate answer, Jowan received silence. He turned his head to meet her eye. He was treated with an incredulous expression that made him wonder if he'd grown another head or inadvertently stepped on her foot. He caught the laughter in her dark eyes before it erupted from her throat in a hearty peal. Swiftly she placed a hand over her mouth to muffle her mirth, speaking only after she'd collected enough of herself to do so. "Is that what they tell you?"

Jowan swallowed his initial sarcastic response, and paused a moment to give it thought. It was common knowledge at the Tower that Templars could sense mages. It had been ingrained in him from his first step into the Circle. He'd never before stopped to question the source of the information and their bias in having young impressionable mages believe such. "Its not true then, you think? I mean I did grow up surrounded by them."

"That would make you the expert on the subject then?" Oh no, Jowan knew a verbal trap when he heard one. Instead he shrugged noncommittally. She returned it with an exaggerated shrug of her own. Was she mocking him? "I've trained since childhood to combat Templars. I've never seen anything to suggest they have the ability to know a mage soon as look at one. In fact many of our diversionary tactics would prove useless if they could. They can feel magic when its in use, surely. But so can nearly anyone else who knows what sense to pay attention to."

"How old were you when you started training?" he asked, curious about her people's culture.

"Ten, I think. I don't remember much before then, except wandering in the mists. I was found by a shaman, Kindled Flame, and his apprentice. Its his apprentice that later became my Shaman. What about you?"

"Five or six. Feels like a dream sometimes, that I didn't always live in the Tower," he said wistfully.

"That look is how they find you I think. All dreamy eyed about being outside," she laughed.

"Why would anyone be crazy enough to train to combat Templars anyway?"

"The Chasind are split into tribes, each with shamans to lead it. Our shamans are ever the target of the Chantry and its knights. Bow-mages, like me, protect our shamans. From themselves if needed," she explained. If needed, he knew what that meant. The thought of becoming an abomination sent a shiver down him.

"They would wouldn't they? Killing mages outside the Chantry's influence is what Templars do," he commented, absorbing the new information hungrily. Morsels to occupy his mind with later.

"If we are lucky, they kill our shamans and their apprentices." Her eyes seemed to darken as emotion swirled within. She hated Templars, maybe more then he did even. It was hate he could feel in every fiber of her being, the intensity radiating off her in thick waves of negative energy. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn she grew up in the Circle; if it wasn't for the complete terror she carried at the thought of confronting them. "During the Occupation, the Orlesians developed a new method of quelling the Chasind threat. They would capture our shamans, then release them back to us after applying the Rite. They paraded it as the humane solution. It created problems you cannot imagine. I tell you this so maybe you will understand why I felt so strongly yesterday. Why I was so harsh."

"Who was it?" he asked, connecting the dots.

"Excuse me?" she responded, looking at him with her brows lifted in confusion.

"That you lost to the Rite?"

Her shoulders stiffened, for a moment the wall she carefully erected around herself faltered. In the next instant it was back in place. She looked him over more keenly then, pulling her gaze up from his toes. He was suddenly insecure about the scraggle on his face.

"You are looking a bit better I think, let me see your wrists," she said, ignoring his question. It'd been bad form for him to ask in the first place. It was hard to keep in mind that they had just met, despite the feeling of easy familiarity. He couldn't expect her to be an open book.

But really where would the fun in that be?

"I've never been very proficient at healing, but I've had incentive to practice as of late," he said. Jowan then pulled his sleeve up on his left arm, the one closest to her, and held the limb out for her to examine. Her touch was feather-light as her fingertips brushed the healed marks about his wrists where he'd been bound. Scars from when he'd been suspended from the ceiling of Redcliffe dungeon intertwined with the fresh ones. He was a right patchwork of misfortune.

"You are pale as a dove's wing," she teased, turning his hand over. It was then she noticed the hand attached was in the process of replacing its fingernails. She snorted indignantly and dropped his hand. "Only fools torture a mage. Can't imagine they stopped there?" she queried.

"I wanted to thank-you for yesterday. I'd thought myself into a corner." he said, glazing over her question as she had his. The memories were still to fresh to share. Maybe when they were less raw, but for now he needed time to heal. He pulled his hand back through his hair, aware of how long and unkempt it was. At least it matched his beard, he mused cynically. "I was just so impossibly tired of, well, everything. I can't imagine how that makes me sound."

"Like a man that thinks things to death. I too have been weary lately," she said softly.

"You don't look like the type that gets weary."

"That is the ultimate trick," she murmured.

"This is something though, all these people you're helping," he said jerking his chin towards the rabble ahead of them.

"The refugees are Ser Gilmore and Helena's doing. They look all tough with their swords and armor, but they are bleeding hearts the both of them. Helena's a bit devout, but it only rarely overrides her sense. If she sneers at you, just ignore her. Or tell her her face will stick," she chuckled. The care she held for her companions was easily read from the way her face lit up as she talked about them.

"You haven't asked me yet, about what I've done." he said a bit nervously.

"Now that you mention it, I am curious about what happened after your, and I quote, impressive victory dance over said bear's corpse. Which I may yet ask to see."

"Right, well. At least someone listens to me when I rant. I guess. After the Templar, I was taken from his custody by an agent of Teyrn Loghain-"

"Wait, wait. I've lived this story before. Let me guess. Templar, Teyrn Loghain, offer you couldn't refuse. He was set on finding a mage when he accidentally found me. My curiosity is piqued though. What did he want you for anyway?" She interjected.

She made it sound so casual, like she was asking him why her thought the grass was green. He couldn't help but think this would be easier if she was interrogating him instead of being friendly about it. He stopped and watched the group move out of hearing range. He took a deep breath, then quickly relayed his account.

He told her what happened at Redcliffe, and his part in it. Finishing with how the Warden selected him to go into the Fade to sever the tie between the Arl's son and the demon he'd struck a deal with. He told her everything, except the bits concerning blood magic. He knew it was stupid as he was doing it, that it was lying by omission. He wanted a chance to make up for his past misdeeds, to do some good. He feared that if Vhaaja knew he was a Maleficar she would treat him differently, like he was stained beyond saving. He'd tell her later, when his actions proved his intent. At the moment he was enjoying her friendship too much to threaten it with an unsavory confession.

He hadn't dared to look at her as he spoke. Jowan wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he certainly hadn't anticipated was the thoughtful expression she wore. With a careful tone she said, "You sound like an man in dire need of a fresh start."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that, though I do expect a bit more effort on the follow through if I ask you to kill something," instantly her brow furrowed. "Sorry, I know inappropriate. I do that, sometimes. Let me try this again." she sighed, moving in front of him. He took his hand between hers, and squeezed. "We all get lost, but you are no longer alone in the forest."

She then dropped his hand and started back towards the group. His hesitated, that hadn't gone the way he'd thought it would. The woman was definitely a puzzle. His long legs quickly caught up to her, and was walking abreast of her again.

"One last thing," he started. He almost confessed then, but the words caught in his throat as he saw her face wrinkle in disgust as she stopped to examine the bottom of her boot and muttered something unkind towards canine kind. He couldn't have her looking at him like that. She gestured for him to go on as she pinched her nose to ward off the smell. "How did a mighty Templar slayer like yourself end up in their custody?"

"AH, my friend. Gather around and I'll tell you the tale of a knicker-weasel in mage guise…"

oOo

The days passed unusually smooth for Vhaaja and her companions. Their battles with the small roving bands of darkspawn no longer seemed like insurmountable odds. Magic had leveled the playing field. At first none of the others seemed to take to the apostate. To be fair none of the refugees were particularly fond of her either. She'd heard the word witch more then once issued in hushed tones. But they all thanked their Maker for Jowan's magic after they'd seen him turn darkspawn into smoking hunks of vile meat. He'd confided in her that he'd only been an apprentice when he'd escaped the Circle. While a patient might walk away with a limp if he tried to mend a bone, he'd joked, he was very good at setting things on fire.

Vhaaja smiled as she watched him gathering firewood. They'd stopped for the night. They might have been able to make it further, but the camp site had been too perfect, and some of the refugees weren't as fit as others. He hadn't spotted her yet on her arboreal perch, nestled in the elbow of a large tree. She couldn't quite put her finger on the exact why of it, but she enjoyed watching the mage. It was more than mere physical attraction, though that was part of it too. He had a slender, straight body. Already he was gaining a bit of weight back. He was a bit soft, but the Circle hadn't been concerned so much with physical strength she gathered. His most alluring feature, Vhaaja thought, had to be the eager, yet contained intelligence that played behind his dark brows. There was never a moment when she looked at him that his gears weren't putting some thought through its paces.

Did that explain why whenever she was near him she found herself resisting the urge to touch him? Sometimes she couldn't, brushing her hand accidentally-on-purpose against him. It was like her body cried out for his, it was getting a bit obnoxious about it to tell the truth. Maybe it was his magic, the feel of it just underneath the surface. A strength no one else could see. If she closed her eyes, it was almost like she was home with Brambled Path at her side.

The question became, did she want Jowan for himself? Or because he reminded her of something she'd lost? Desire threaded up sharply then, impatient to be heard.

_-You've always had a thing for mages. Why not take him if you want him?-_ Desire asked, interrupting Vhaaja's own thoughts.

**-How am I suppose to know what I want when you are always chattering in my ear with what you want,-** she replied, not bothering to veil her frustration.

_-You seem happy enough with the knight I wanted,-_

**-You forced my hand on that, remember? I care for him certainly. We're friends.-**

_-Naked friends.-_

**-I offer him comfort.-**

_-He regards it that way does he?-_

**-You think he doesn't?-**

The demon was silent suddenly. At first Vhaaja thought Desire playing coy, she did like her games. But she soon realized the demon's attention was on the billowing smoke coming from a nearby field. The Wilder quickly scurried down her tree and tugged at Jowan to come with her as she passed him on her way back to camp to tell Roland and Helena what she'd spotted.

oOo

"It is profane what is done to the god-touched in the shadow of the Chantry!" Vhaaja hissed, her shoulders a rigid line of hate.

"The Chantry isn't to blame for this. They were afraid. They are just simple farm folk," Roland defended.

"And who teaches them this fear?" Vhaaja threw back.

"Magic is dangerous!" he answered, raising his voice and refusing to shrink under her ire.

"Ignorance more so, we'd be better off locking that in a Tower!"

"She's too far gone, there is nothing I can do," Jowan choked out, knelt beside the badly burned body of the girl they'd just cut down from her stake. She was just a child still, Roland noticed. Maybe in her early teens. Around them lay the prone, sleeping forms of the villagers that had been cheering for the young woman's death. Cleansing her with the purity of fire. That was Vhaaja's doing, as always having them avert their eyes before she activated her bow.

The mage's hands hovered over her narrow, flat chest. The rise and fall of it was ragged, and painful to watch. The blue healing aura that surrounded them flickered once before going out all together. He looked to Vhaaja then his expression a dark canvas of grief. Bitterly he said, "At the Circle, they tell us we are the lucky ones. Guess they were right."

Roland too turned his attention to Vhaaja. She was seething, her hands clenched white knuckle at her side. Stiffly she moved to the mage and dropped to his side. She placed her free hand on his shoulder. Roland watched as something silent passed between the pair of them. Something he wasn't entirely sure he liked.

"I'll not leave her to linger," she said finally, her tone still hot but edged with civility. Jowan nodded and pushed himself heavily to his full height. He was only a bit shorter then Roland, but his build was lanky willow to the knight's corded muscle wrought of swordsmanship practice and bulked up the necessity of armor.

Gingerly Vhaaja plucked an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. As she rose, she released. It was a thing of macabre beauty. Roland and Jowan both looked away as the arrow sunk into the girl, relieving her of her misery. The Wilder never looked away, she thought it was disrespectful.

She was almost vibrating with her rage as they moved in silence back to the camp. When they finally arrived Vhaaja split off and moving into the shadowy green of the surrounding trees. It would take a brave, or stupid, man to bother Vhaaja when she'd worked herself up. She'd make peace with it given some time alone. Judging by the worried expression on the mage's face, it wasn't something he seemed keen on giving her.

Roland's lips tugged into a deviously wicked smile. So far Jowan had only been exposed to happy-slightly-psychotic Vhaaja. Angry-vengeful Vhaaja was a separate beast. It was something Roland was coming to terms within himself. Sometimes there was just too much anger to keep it bottled up inside. Better to go take it out on some delicious woodland creature to add to the stew pot then her companions, Vhaaja had explained to him.

He was going to open his mouth to warn the mage, but the words stilled unformed as he noticed Helena's approach. She'd stayed behind with the Mabari, which he refused to call by her name, and the refugees so they'd at least have a shred of protection.

"What happened?" she asked, the Mabari sitting at her heel as the woman came to a stop.

"Villagers were burning an apostate at the stake. You know how the farm folk get. If their crops fail or milk curdles they find something or someone to blame. Maker, she was young though," Roland said with a frown. He didn't like it, but it was how things were. He couldn't change it.

"Not to mention we are in the midst of a Blight and what part magic played in that. Hard times for everyone," Helena agreed. "Let me guess, she got all far away and said something Chasind?"

"Something like that," Roland grinned despite himself.

"Why am I not surprised?" she sighed, sparing a glance for were Vhaaja has slipped into the darkness. The grin that worked its way to her mouth had him glancing that way too. What he saw was the mage's back. "He does know she will eat him, right?"

"He'll figure it out,"

oOo

Jowan came upon her in a small clearing, staring down a statue of Andraste. They were everywhere he was quick to realize during their travels. And sometimes in the oddest places. It was a classic pose, her head tilted back with her gaze watching the sky. Her arms were outstretched, ready to receive the Maker's mercy; not the stones Vhaaja was unceremoniously lobbing at the Prophetess.

"Like what you see?" she called without looking at him. The woman had a quip for everything. Jowan couldn't say that he knew what to make of that but he filed it away with the other pieces of the jagged puzzle named Vhaaja. "Most people leave me alone when I'm angry."

"I can go, if that's what you want," he gestured back towards the camp, the firelight marking it in the dark like a beacon.

"Do you always back down so quickly?" Vhaaja asked, her attention firmly on him now. He resisted the urge to squirm under the intensity of her dark eyes.

"Generally," he shrugged. Most things weren't worth the confrontation. He heard her make a vexed noise.

"Stay. But whisper one word about me being a blaspheming heathen and I will punch you in the throat," she warned, chucking another stone. This one hit the statue soundly where she'd threaten to hit him. She waved him over with a quick motion. "Truth is, I don't know what I want half the time. One voice tells me to do one thing, and the other pulls me in the opposite direction."

Jowan took slow, careful steps towards her. Almost as if she were one of the Circle's mousers. The little beasts were liable to spook and dart off if one approached them too fast. The more he thought on that analogy, the more he decided it fit. Except she was no gentle house cat. She was small, yes. But also fierce and undeniably wild. _Like a bobcat_, the thought came to him suddenly. Arl Eamon had had a stuffed one mounted in his library.

As a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, he brought a hand up to cover it in what he hoped looked like a contemplative gesture. When he felt the tug subside, he pulled his hand down to his chin in a thoughtful manner. Maker's breath, what he'd give for a reflective surface and a razor. "These voices, do they tell you to kill people and start fires?"

"Generally," she answered, treating him with a reluctant smile. "What I really want is to go home. Leave Ferelden to its clueless Maker, his damned Prophetess, and his evil Chantry. But I can't. I mucked that up. So now I'm this stranger, in a strange land playing this game I don't know the rules to, much less understand. Sometimes I just want to flip the board over and stomp on the pieces."

"There is usually less stomping involved, but I know what its like to want to go home. I mucked it up pretty badly myself."

With that she offered him a stone. He took it with a lopsided grin and tossed it. It ended up going wide of the Prophetess plunking into the ground behind her.

"That was _terrible_! It's a small wonder you haven't fried our poor knights to a crisp. I've never been so glad I sling arrows from beside you," she laughed. Jowan looked over, to catch a glimpse of her mirth. The eyes that were turned on him this time made him want to squirm in a completely different, yet not entirely unpleasant, way. "Thank-you Jowan."

oOo

Vhaaja came to rest at his side, her body sticky with sex and sweat. Automatically his arm came around her. She still felt dirty, and selfish to top it off with. A good person would have stopped herself. But she wasn't good. She was barely passable as a person. His hand moved to stroke her hair lazily. She hated how much she loved it. Her own hand played up and down his torso, relishing the muscle beneath his hot skin and the feel of his fine hair caressing her fingertips. By his breathing he was drifting into sleep. That was her queue, where she'd decided to draw her line. It was one thing to entwined herself with the man, and quite another to spend the night nestled against him as sleep claimed them. She had to be mindful of the signals she was sending him, especially now that she was so confused on the matter.

She sat up carefully, trying in earnest not to wake him. She reached for her tunic in the dark. It was easier to get in and out of than her leathers. Grasping the course material she then drew the garment over her head in a fluid motion, pulling her lose hair from the collar as it settled on her shoulders. Forward she inched, towards the tent's opening.

"You could stay," Roland said groggily, grabbing her arm as she was about to open the flap.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said holding her breath as she awaited his response.

"And why's that? We could keep each other warm," his voice was low, honey sweet temptation.

"I have a perfectly good tent that will get lonely without me," she said lightly. Internally she winced. She hadn't meant to sound so uncaring. But what was she suppose to tell him? That the demon that practically forced Vhaaja to sleep with him in the first place thought Roland was developing feelings for her deeper than lust? Feelings she didn't know if she shared, or was even still capable of feeling at all. Sounded like a good way to end up on her own stake. Vhaaja closed her eyes and prayed he wouldn't press the issue. Not tonight.

"Wouldn't want the tent to get lonely," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach all the way, then dropped his hand from her arm. Her throat swelled, she willed herself to pull back the flap. But in the end, she wasn't strong enough.

"I suppose it'll get over it, being inanimate and all," she sighed, curling against the knight once again. Accepting the monster she'd become. At least that's what she felt like at the moment.

* * *

**a/n:** First off thank you to my lovely beta, Sesegirl, for lending me her eyes. She knows just how much this chapter changed, going from meh to passable I think. And I want to thank my reviewers, a the rest of the lovely people that read silently. Let me know what worked and what was blech, and I'll send you some e-cookies, lulz.


	8. Broken Pieces

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part Two: Blood Oath

**a/n:** -**WARNING-** there is a little M/M in the beginning of this. If that offends you, I apologize.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Broken Pieces  
**

* * *

_It was a thing of stark beauty, Roland's ruddy flesh cast against the cool radiance of Jowan's own. The distinction between their light tones was like a red desert sunset draped over a dark stormy sea. The knight's head reclined, and the mage pressed his mouth passionately to the tender underside of his strong jaw. Roland held the slighter man against his rippling muscle with one arm as the other found purchase in Jowan's hair. Droplets of water sluiced down their bare bodies. The rivulets caught the eye in their cascade past tantalizingly taunt abdomens and drew attention lower; where Jowan's eloquent fingers grasped the impressive girth of Roland's engorged shaft._

**-That isn't helping,-** chided Vhaaja, trying to banish the image. Her mental tone was somewhere between admiration for the demon's creativity and irritation at the distraction.

_-Not you perhaps, but I'm dreadfully bored,- _Desire whined.

**-I thought demons had no imagination, that's why the Maker turned from you,-** Vhaaja teased.

_-If there is a Maker, I have never seen him,-_ the demon stated firmly, _-I do, however, believe the error is with the creator, not the created, given his track record. What kind of all knowing god makes so many mistakes and refuses to accept responsibility?-_

Vhaaja could only shrug in response. It was more a question for Helena. If she could trust herself not to start an argument, it might be something she'd actually ask the knight. The longer she stayed in the lands controlled by the Chantry. The more Vhaaja wondered what the Chant actually said and how much the Chantry made up to suit them.

While the rest of the group stopped for the their midday break, Vhaaja had taken the opportunity to explore. The previous day they had left the wooded security of the forest for the rocky expanse Roland assured them meant they were within a day or two of Hunter Fell. The land looked barely arable. What it was good for apparently were goats and sheep, which dotted the murky green and gray landscape every so often as little white puffs of bleating clouds. Roland also said there were a couple of quarries owned by the Bann that produced some of the finest stone in Ferelden. The pride with which he'd boasted such a claim made Vhaaja suspicious of bias.

"What do we have here," she mused aloud as she caught sight of a decomposing form. The rotten body was encased in what appeared to at one time have been a brightly colored robe. A long cottony beard trailed from its face; void of eyes and long stripped of flesh. Its, his rather, back was pressed against an outcropping of gray stone, clutched in its left hand was an ornate staff. Vhaaja approached to get a better look at the weapon. It was forged of dark metal, the shaft entirely studded to maximize grip. At both ends were compact metal balls. Protruding from the ends of the smooth metallic surface were sharp points. It was a instrument she was familiar with.

Her first attempt to pull it from the corpse's hand was unsuccessful. Locked in a death grip, the Wilder smirked to herself. She followed by prying the nearly bone fingers from the staff with a dagger she retrieved from her boot. When it was in her hands she held it horizontally before her, evenly space along the middle. Her fingers searched briefly for the release hidden amongst the studs. She pressed them, then pulled the staff apart revealing from the center two long stiletto blades. They were perfect for slipping between pieces of plate, like that the Templars wore.

Finding a bow-mage's weapon so far from home made her ache a bit, wondering how had it become parted from its owner. She'd abandoned her own, so it could be passed to another bow-sister as was custom. All she had needed was her bow, which only responded to her blood. It would have been useless in the hands of another, wasted potential. She hadn't expected to survive her quest for revenge Vhaaja mused with a half smile. Desire had proven herself true to her Oath. Vhaaja had gotten exactly what had been agreed upon. It hadn't brought back Brambled Path, or mended that part of her that had broken as a result of his loss. If anything, where she had been broken then she was now shattered.

_-I never promised to fix you,- _Desire reminded, as if Vhaaja could forget the terms of the deal.

**-But the world is a better place with fewer Templars in it,-** she responded, resolute. She'd broken them too, before the end; the thought of their suffering stirred a perverse sense of joy.

She placed the two parts of the weapon back together, they locked into place with a subtle click. Vhaaja then headed back to the others with her prize in hand. She contemplated giving the weapon to Jowan, before deciding he was better off with the simple one they'd looted from an emissary. He was liable to hurt himself with anything more complex, they hadn't been keen on teaching him how to defend himself against melee attacks at the Tower.

The Wilder hadn't strayed too far, she noticed as she spotted the group. As she made it back to the fold, Roland and Helena had already started getting everyone moving again. She noticed the redheaded knight off to the side with his hand on Jowan's shoulder, the mage nodding in response to some remark.

Unbidden, snippets of Desire's earlier fantasy came racing back. If this hadn't been the demon's intention from the start, Vhaaja would eat her boots. Pushing the thoughts away, she realized these last couple of days to Hunter Fell would be longer than hours could adequately mark. The demon's amusement prickling at the base of her skull only confirmed it.

oOo

The moon bathed the world in soft blue light, deceiving the eye into believing all was well. Helena knew the opposite to be true, no matter how she wished the contrary. At least for her own world, very little had been well since her husband left to become a Warden. If she'd protested, would he have stayed? If he'd stayed would it have changed anything? Helena hated watch, it gave her too much time to think about what ifs and could have beens. She focused on the warm Mabari pressed against her side as she stood sentinel over her sleeping companions and refugees.

I had been _so_ difficult at first, after they'd learned of Ostagar. For a while she'd hoped their first source had been too far gone to give them sense. Since then she strained to live in the moment. To take things as they came without delving too deeply within herself. She gave what she could to the Maker, but she'd be thankful for the support a Chantry could provide once they reached Hunter Fell. Only reflection on the Chant could heal what was broken by way of the caring insight of the sisters.

Spitfire growled suddenly, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The bitch wasn't an animal that made noise without reason. She turned to look behind her and nearly jumped out of her skin as she unexpectedly came upon Vhaaja's face drawn in concern. _Good girl_, Helena patted the dog. The Mabari never seemed to relax in the Wilder's presence, which never ceased to amuse the knight.

"Something wrong?" Helena asked.

"I couldn't sleep, and just now I thought I felt the ground tremble," Vhaaja whispered.

Just as Helena was about to answer, Spitfire whined against her. Before she could question the dog, the earth began to shudder in beats. Almost like footfall. A great bellow sounded, sending the Mabari running away from Helena and towards the tents. Hopefully the canine would wake the mage and Rory if they managed to sleep through the ruckus. What ever it was, it wasn't good and it was nearly under them; their camp made upon high ground. Out of the corner of her vision, Helena noticed the Wilder slowly reach out for her arm, but she slipped forward. As Helena reached the crest of the rocky hilltop, she clasped a hand over her mouth in awe. Vhaaja inched with careful steps to her side.

Leathery gray skin stretched over its hulking, gorilla-esque frame, which was much taller than any man. From its head sprang a single gnarled horn, branching and twisting around itself. On the other side, where its mate should have been, was a jagged broken line. Its bottom jaw jutted out from the upper, exposing a row of putrid teeth with razor sharp points. Caught between them were bits of meat and wool from its last meal. Another roar bugled from the massive creature, spewing forth tendrils of drool and morsels of sheep with the sound.

"You have a plan for that?" Helena asked in a low voice.

"Its scented us, if we just walk away it will hound us. We have to distract it, and maybe the refugees could get away. Get them up, and get them moving. Slowly. If the ogre catches the sight of them running the predator in him has to give chase. Its their way," Vhaaja said, taking on her own cold and predatory demeanor.

"You've seen these killed before, right?" Helena asked.

"Once, and it took a shaman to do it," she replied with a sigh.

"We have the mage."

"Jowan is not a shaman," Vhaaja's voice taking on a quality Helena hadn't heard before, something the knight interpreted as fear.

Rory and the mage were already out of their tents. The refugees had stirred as well, children whimpered softly against the skirts of their mothers. If Helena had anything to say in the matter, they'd all have their children still when this was over. Helena approached the eldest of them, a man in his fifties that the others had come to respect. She relayed the directions to him, trying to remain calm on the surface at least. Such a twisted beast could only have been vomited from the abyss. Spitfire was sent with the refugees, the dog would run back if they came across trouble. Helena still wasn't sure what they would do about that if it happened, but it seemed to satisfy the elder. Helena then returned to Rory and the mage and relayed to them what they were up against as she lead the way back to Vhaaja.

"He's found a path up," the Wilder pointed. In that direction the ogre was climbing the stone shelves like a toddler up oversized stairs. It wasn't a feat a small creature could have accomplished. The gravity of what they faced settled on the men, the air becoming heavy with dread. "We haven't a choice. We have to surprise him if we stand a chance. If he grabs you, you are dead. Avoid that."

"Obviously," Jowan said, sarcasm his outlet for worry and stress.

"You will need to slow him down, and throw offensive. It will be hard, but you've improved significantly in a short time," the Wilder said.

"Nothing like practical application," he replied.

"I can fill him full of arrows, but his skin is so thick they won't be more than bee stings. We need to wound him as much as possible before he gets to our knights, who will be at a severe disadvantage," said Vhaaja leveling her gaze on the mage.

"No pressure there. What about that thing you did to the Templar?" He asked, Helena furrowed her brow. She immediately decided that she was better off not knowing what she'd done.

"It needs to ricochet off metal to work properly. Are we ready?" Vhaaja asked, eyes on Jowan. Helena hated that so much seemed to rely on the mage, she was almost sure Jowan felt similar given his grave expression. When he nodded, face reset in determination, Vhaaja looked back to the knights. "Stay here. We will coax him here. Stay ready."

With that Vhaaja and the mage moved into striking distance. What came next Helena couldn't see clearly. There was ice, lightening and fire mingled with Vhaaja's barking commands. With each attack they fell back further, then launched another volley of attacks. It was a flurry of magic and arrows playing in the dim moonlight. Finally, the beast nearly at their heels, they reconvened with the knights. The ogre was slowed by a partially resisted Winter's Grasp and covered like a balding porcupine with arrows embedded in its hide. The ogre stopped as it notice them all, let out another outcry and lowered its head. In the next heartbeat he was charging at the scattered party as a ram would an invading rival. Helena willed herself to move, but her legs refused to cooperate. Had this been what her husband had seen in his last moments?

Out of nowhere a great force crashed against her left side, sending Helena rolling out of the creatures deceptively fast attack. She looked beside her, Jowan was on one knee panting heavily; the strain of magic on his body showing clearly. She hurried to him, hoping he hadn't hurt himself trying to save her from her own stupidity. As she helped him up she noticed blood oozing from a gash on his forearm.

"Helena!" called Rory, she turned just in time to bring her shield up to block the ogre's blow. But instead of hitting the shield, he reached around and hoisted Helena into the air. The pressure against her chain mail was instantaneous, crushing the breath from her. The beast lifted her to eye level and bugled into her face, its halitosis poisoning any air she did manage to force into her struggling lungs. What had Vhaaja said? If he grabs you? Ah yes, she was dead. Very very dead. The Hornet of Highever killed because she'd been too afraid to move, shaming all female knights in the process.

Her last thoughts before the end were of her husband and their daughter. She closed her eyes and accepted her fate. At the Maker's side, her broken family would be whole as it had never been in life. Then everything got cold.

oOo

Was it worse to commit a sin, or to refuse to commit a sin that could save the life of another? This was the recursive thought process that had plagued Jowan since the previous night, when they'd face the ogre. The sequence of events kept replaying through his mind, each time causing a pang of regret.

He'd caught himself on a sharp rock as he landed pushing Helena out of the ogre's path. He was surprised he could move her at all in hindsight. Perhaps she had been lighter than she size implied. The wound hand stung, but it was superficial. The pain was minor in comparison to what he'd endured at Redcliffe. He could feel it then, the thrum of his life energy pulsing from him as he bled. When the ogre had grabbed Helena he had attempted a spell. His lack of mana had seen it fizzle half formed. He was exhausted, there simply wasn't anymore. _Not unless..._ The ogre squeezed, and Helena's mouth moved in a silent cry, there wasn't air enough in her lungs to make it audible.

The decision came. Did he take the moral high road and let a good woman die or did he tap into his forbidden arts to save her? Would she even want to be saved at the cost of blood magic? In that moment, he knew what he had to do. Even if he'd regret it later.

He'd broken the taboo long before the ogre, and was already a card carrying Maleficar. There were whole portions of the Chant dedicated to his ilk being damned beyond saving grace. There would be no rest for him, not even when death claimed him. Might as well use his damnation to benefit another.

Roland charged then, the fierce blow severed a tendon at the back of the creature's leg. The darkspawn stumbled to one knee, confused. Jowan used the distraction to dig deep and pull life force from his blood to fuel his next spell. He muttered the incantation and the ogre froze solid. Brittle, Helena then dropped her weapon so she could use both arms to bring her shield pummeling down on the beast's fingers until a few shattered. With that she took a deep breath, dropped her shield and lifted her arms above her head. The ogre's grip had been loosened enough that she slipped from her bulky chain mail.

Once she was on the ground, scurrying away on her hands and knees, Vhaaja leaped upon the darkspawn and using her new weapons clambered to the creature's meaty neck. With a savage cry, she drove the twin long stiletto blades down through its eyes, the points protruding from beneath the ogre's jowls. She wretched the weapons free then and vaulted backwards. Her heels dug into the earth as she slid backwards slightly upon landing. The expression she'd worn was one of predatory delight, a satisfaction only dominating another predator could produce.

Now that same fearsome woman was peering into barrels with all the curiosity and wonderment of a child playing a new game. When he'd questioned her about the admittedly odd behavior her quip had been, "People put the oddest things in barrels." The joke was obviously on him, because she was already a sovereign and a health poultice richer.

If he looked up, Jowan could see Hunter Fell castle. It was small, compared to Redcliffe, but the little people that busied themselves in the village reminded him of the villagers he's watched from his window. How their little lives could be ruined inadvertently. None of those in Redcliffe village had been left untouched by the effects of Jowan's actions. Really it was for them he regretted his participation in Loghain's schemes the most. He'd never even thought about how connected their lives were with that of their Arl, how their lives would have been turned upside down even if everything had gone exactly as planned. It hadn't though, plans involving Jowan never seemed to come to fruition. And just because he'd never meant for it to happen didn't make him feel any less responsible. Sometimes it felt as if he'd suffocate on his regret, it enveloped him so thickly.

Only one winding path lead up to the gatehouse. After leaving the refugees at the inn; Roland started up the rocky tor confidant that his companions would all follow. Vhaaja waved him on ahead, she'd catch up after she picked a small chest she'd found hidden. Helena walked at Roland's side, laughing and patting the other knight on the back. Her mail hadn't been salvageable, and she still had pain when she exerted herself; but he'd healed her as best he could when he'd recovered enough mana to attempt it.

She looked over her shoulder then, and smiled at Jowan. It felt weird, having her acknowledge his existence. He hadn't known what to say when she'd apologized and promised to stop treating him like a pariah. He'd just continued to heal her bruised ribs quietly. It seemed all he had to do to was save the life of every mage fearing personage he came across. He'd be accepted in no time.

oOo

It was hardly a castle, not compared to Highever. But it had stone walls to protect her and buildings to house her people. That was the basic definition of a castle at the very least. It felt odd being home after so many years. His head swam with nostalgia as he and his companions passed through the gatehouse. He remembered playing in this very courtyard, before reality had set in. He'd slain giant rats and rescued countless damsels in distress. The stories his grandfather told had been the foundation of every imaginary adventure. In more than one, he'd been a Grey Warden slaying an archdemon and ending a Blight.

Thought of his father, a portly man with stern features, sobered him quickly. He couldn't fathom the man would thank him for the extra refugees Roland had brought into his Bann. They meant more mouths to feed and bodies to protect. Already the displaced were swarming the Bannorn, looking for a safe place to bide the Blight. Roland hoped his father would be overjoyed enough at the sudden reappearance of his dead son as to overlook the inconvenience.

The doors to the main hall burst open, revealing a slender woman about a head shorter than Helena. The sight of her brought elation to his lips in the form of a grin. The last time he'd seen her she'd been awkward with red pigtails and a haughty attitude of a woman above her station. Her attitude seemed the same at least. A year before he had been sent to Highever, his eldest sister had been sent to serve Anora Mac Tir at court in Denerim. But in that time, the ugly duckling had become a swan.

She wore a gown of midnight blue, accented with gold thread in filigree up her torso. It was a tight fitting garment, and even as he tried not to he noticed she cut an impressive figure. She hitched the expensively dyed fabric in her hands and ran the rest of the distance to meet him. Her loose red hair trailed her like a candle's flame, the color so intense. She flung herself into his open arms and he twirled her around once before he set her back down on the cobblestone.

"I hadn't dared to believe the messenger. Not until I laid my own eyes upon you. I see that your death has been greatly exaggerated," she said smugly looking up at him.

"Lorelai, you're different," he said through a lopsided grin.

"You're not eleven anymore either it seems," she responded, her manner a bit colder for being reminded.

"I need to see father," he said, hands still resting on her slim shoulders.

"That may prove difficult," she emitted a humorless chuckle, "He took ill, and did not recover."

"When?" Roland was numbed by the fact.

"I sent a messenger, but when he arrived at Highever the castle was already...under new management?" she said delicately.

"Who is Bann then? Roderick?" he asked, trying to remember what he eldest brother looked like.

"I am."

"You jest, father would never-"

Lorelai stopped him with a firm stare. She was not a woman that enjoyed being questioned, before or now. "You have timed your reappearance almost perfectly. Just in time for my impending nuptials."

"The lucky man?" he asked.

"There is much we need to discuss. In private. But that can wait. I've had rooms made up for your companions," in the message Roland had sent ahead of them he'd introduced the party briefly. And as Jowan requested, he'd used the pseudonym the mage provided. At Hunter Fell, he'd be Levyn. And a scholar if anyone asked. "I've had my kitchen staff prepare a small feast to welcome you all. It isn't everyday my little brother comes back from the dead."

oOo

"No! I forbid it," Roland slammed his open hands down on the sturdy wooden bureau in front of him. It was the only item he readily recognized as his father's in his sister's study. She was seated behind in in a matching cushioned chair.

"You are hardly in a position to forbid anything within these walls. I am Bann here," Lorelai replied, apparently unmoved by her brother's outburst.

"I'm still having a hard time gathering why that is," he responded, his rage only lightly masked in the name of civility. Yet he'd wager his face was brightly colored enough to express his true feelings on the matter.

"Our dear father should have learned to read a contract better, between bedding serving girls. Our mother was the daughter of a merchant, if she knew anything it was how to get the better end of an arrangement. Buried in the fine print of their marriage agreement, it states that by marrying our mother he agreed to make their first born daughter heir. Which makes me Bann of Hunter Fell. There was a reason I was sent to court, the time of Gilmore men has passed. It was unfortunate that you were caught up in the political squabble," her tone the description of business.

"Political squabble? Women and children were slaughtered as they begged for their lives. It was no mere squabble. It was a massacre," Roland spat with venom.

"I have it on good authority that Bryce Cousland was a in league with the Orlesians, his wife and daughter wore nothing but their silk," she retorted, her patience waning.

"That is the most ridiculous assertion I've ever heard. Anyone that knew his daughter knew she wore little besides her leathers. The Teyrn was a good decent man!"

"I know you want to believe sunlight shone out of your Lordship's arse, but maybe, just maybe, he wasn't the man you thought he was," she said, standing.

"How could you agree to such a thing? To marry the son of the man you thought responsible for your own brother's death if nothing else. Does kin mean so little to you?"

"You might have the luxury of dwelling in the past, I do not. I must think of the future of Hunter Fell. Arl, soon to be Teyrn, Howe wants control of our quarries. With them, the ones in Amaranthine and Highever he'd control a good portion of the market. Castles will need to be rebuilt after the Blight, and there is a tidy fortune to be made. This is the only time I'd ever be able to secure such a match. The marriage could mean so much to Hunter Fell. One day I could very well be Teyrna of Highever."

"I wouldn't hold your breath, I've seen how that man honors agreements," he started to protest, but was interrupted by Lorelai slamming her own hand down on the bureau.

"Like it or not, brother, at the end of the month I will be marrying Thomas Howe. If you make trouble for me, I will not hesitate to have you confined to your chambers for the duration of your stay. Do not force my hand. Trust that I know best."

Roland didn't answer, only slammed the the door on his way out. His ability to handle the situation like an adult was at its end. In a few week's time, he would be related to the man that had left everything he had believed in broken.

* * *

**a/n: **Yes, I shamelessly followed the Gilmore family naming trend. I figured I had to. I hope you liked this installment! Let me know what you think, good or bad. I can't improve without a guidance. As always THANK YOU, to my lovely Beta Sesegirl who I use shamelessly as well!


	9. Festis Bei Umo Canavarum

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part Two: Blood Oath

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Festis Bei Umo Canavarum **

* * *

It was a dark night in more ways than one, thought Bann Gilmore. Lamp lit, she blew softly on the parchment before her in an attempt to dry the ink faster. She feigned patience well, but she'd yet to pick up the true knack for the virtue. She inspected her precise, fluid handwriting again for error.

_To my most beloved Lord,_

_Your wedding gift has arrived as promised, if a bit late. It was however in the keeping of whom your Grace suggested. It seems little worse for its travels, physically at least. You have my sincere gratitude. I graciously accept the return as a token of good faith. I look forward to our future endeavors. You can count on my continued support in these trying times._

_By your loyal advocate in Hunter Fell_

Satisfied, Lorelai folded the missive in thirds with a nod. A bit of flair in her movements she poured the seal and pressed her signet ring into the hot wax. Quickly she moved through the cold stone corridors of her keep to to the stables. Let her brother be angry with her, she was the only reason he'd gotten out of that abyssal Castle. If she hadn't already been using her father's illegitimate spawn as a network for information she'd never had found out about the impending attack. She'd never have been able to strike the deal in time, for a long time Lorelai thought she had been too late. She wouldn't lie to herself, she'd still have married Thomas Howe. But having her brother back was a kindness she hadn't expected. She handed the message to the young man saddling his horse.

"Deliver this to the Arl's hands. No one else," she told him. He took it with a curt nod. Before he had mounted, Lorelai had taken her leave. She simply deplored the smell of beasts, no matter how useful. Yet she was trained to be a practical woman, if nothing more. She wanted the messenger gone as swiftly as possible.

On her way back into the keep, she noticed she was not the only one up at this Maker forsaken hour. A light burned from the library's window. She'd spent a lot of time there as a girl, absorbing every drop of knowledge it contained. She'd done the same when serving Anora before she'd become her Majesty. Information was the greatest weapon, and she intended to use it.

oOo

Familiar faces corrupted as devouring corpses plagued his mind. He'd tried for sleep, but it eluded him. The guilt seemed heavier now that he was within stone walls, similar enough to those of Redcliffe to be an ever constant reminder. I had been easy to put his crimes out of his mind as they'd made their way to Hunter Fell. There had been enough to keep his mind distracted that he'd fallen into exhaustion soon as he hit the bedroll. Now idle in comparison, the guilt never really left him. Slowly he could feel it eating away at him from the inside out, his mind seemed only capable of replaying every wrong he'd ever committed.

Lily, Daylen, Eamon, Connor, the Redcliffe staff and Villagers; none of them deserved what he'd done to them. He had so much to answer for, but he couldn't atone if he was dead and Tranquility had been the coward's way out. He knew that now, convinced himself of it. He needed to feel this regret in order to do what he could to right it. It had to mean something, or it meant nothing at all. Maker's breath he needed sleep, his overworked mind's inane ramblings were starting less and less sense if voiced aloud. When it was clear his mind wouldn't be giving him an iota of peace, Jowan decided to spend his time constructively; instead of staring at the ceiling or pacing.

He'd pulled on a new tunic and pair of trousers and headed up to the library on the floor above their rooms. New clothes had been provided for them all. Where his former clothing had gotten after sending it to the launder, he couldn't say. For all he knew they'd been burned like Vhaaja had done to his robes from Redcliffe, asking him if he'd like to say any last words. He still missed them a bit. His new clothing was an improvement, not the finest but not threadbare either. He favored the color of his current tunic, subdued blue with laces part way up to the collar and was stitched at the seams with brown leather thongs.

As he entered the library, he paused a moment to regard the young woman curled up on the wooden benches with a book in her hands. Hair down from its usual tail, and dressed in a olive-brown woolen gown, he realized this was the first time he'd seen the Wilder without her leathers on. As she noticed Jowan's hesitation, Vhaaja looked up from her book and smiled.

"Like what you see?" she said, amusement twisting her full lips. She darted her tongue out and traced her bottom lip, pressing it to the inside of her cheek as she noticeably dropped her gaze, "Because I do."

He was almost certain she said those type of things to see what he'd do, but Jowan glanced down regardless. Damn laces, he hadn't bothered to cinch them up. He hadn't been expecting company when he'd decided to carouse the shelves for an interesting read. But the woman seemed to constantly be where he least expected. He'd lived in a tower full of oversexed teenagers with magical gifts, and awareness in the Fade. It was going to take a bit more then that to fluster him. He shrugged and glanced at the book's spine, "I didn't know you could read Arcanum."

"Read is a strong word, I recognize a few words and try to decipher the rest; like a puzzle. I think my mother was teaching it to me. She was from the Imperium I'm told."

"An elf from Tevinter? Was she an escaped slave you think?" he asked, his brain now focusing on what he knew of the Imperium.

"The woman probably owned a few," Vhaaja said with a half grin. She unfolded her legs from the bench and patted next to her as way of invitation. "She was a Magister. I used to hear people talk about her in low voices when they thought I couldn't hear them. She was an evil knife-eared bitch. Tricked the most powerful shaman of the Chasind into siring me. She loved her blood magic, you can imagine how she did it."

He sat next to her heavily, it was hard to discern if the venom in her voice was entirely for her mother or for blood magic as well. But it sent a pang through him just the same. What would she think of him if she found out about his dabbling? He was beginning to think she'd be angrier about the fact he'd kept it from her. She did not give her trust easily, and he wasn't ready to break it. Not tonight. "Why was she so far from the Imperium?"

"Being cast adrift seems to be a family tradition," she quipped, then sighed in frustration. "I think it had something to do with the mists. They aren't natural."

"What are they then?" he couldn't help his curiosity.

"Something I've told you too much about already. The secrets of the mist are all that keep the Chasind from being devoured. Not just the Templars. There are barbarians that live to the south, in citadels of blood and ice. I gave up being Chasind, I have no right to share their secrets. What brings you here in the dead of night?" she asked, cheerfully changing the topic. Jowan knew better than to push too hard.

"A bit of obsessive soul-searching," he sighed, reclining his head back against the stone and draping his arms along the back of the bench. "I can't help feeling like this is all too...I don't know. Like Templars are going to swoop out of nowhere."

"Let them swoop. I have an arrow for each of them, not that there are any in Hunter Fell. They all got recalled for that Tower debacle and they haven't bothered to send new ones yet. Can't imagine this place is on their priority list. You are as safe as a mage can get without a secret lair, a moat and a pet dragon," she assured.

"Its more than I deserve," she snapped her book shut so hard it echoed through the chamber and startled Jowan.

"I don't think life is about what you deserve. You make due with the hand you are given and move forward," she said turning side ways so she could look at him as she talked.

"You make it sound so easy. You didn't know those poor people."

"No. But they are dead, they don't care anymore. And nothing you can do can change it."

"The flip side to freedom is responsibility, I know exactly what that means now," he said bitterly. He felt her light touch on his arm, the heat of her pulsing through the fabric.

"But you aren't responsible for everything. That house of cards was built by the Arlessa long before you became involved. You know, I know, I'm pretty sure this book knows that an untrained mage is a very bad thing waiting to happen. The Arlessa wanted to throw rug over the offending area and pretend it didn't exist. That was her responsibility. He'd probably been showing signs for years, and the Arlessa just didn't want to believe it. You are just the unlucky bastard that got to blow the house down."

"I didn't question the Teyrn. Not once. I just did as he told me and trusted him," bitterness once again creeping into his tone.

She moved closer still to him and put her head on his shoulder as she spoke. "And next time you won't be blind, you will question everything and think for yourself. Each painful lesson makes you stronger"

"Is that your secret?" he asked, pulling a tendril from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Her dark eyes peering up at him through long lashes. For a moment he saw a flicker of longing, or maybe he'd imagined it. As soon as it appeared she turned away from him, laying her head on his thigh as she opened her book again.

"What does _'fes-tis bei umo ca-na-va-rum'_ mean?" she asked, her brow furrowed in concentration. He laughed at her atrocious pronunciation.

"You will be the death of me."

oOo

Vhaaja loomed over top of him, sun at her back illuminating her into a dark silhouette. The smooth end of her practice staff hovered inches from his throat. Roland couldn't see it, but he could just about feel the smug satisfaction on the Wilder's face. He'd mocked her earlier for choosing a mage's weapon, and had told her to come back with a real one. Apparently she was as skilled with a staff as she was her bow and set of slim daggers she'd recently acquired. They'd been evenly matched for a bit. Where he had strength and discipline she had speed and cunning.

"Do you give?" she purred. The woman enjoyed having him on his back far too much for his like.

"I'd have had you if you would fight fair.," he said, pushing the weapon away with the back of his forearm. Vhaaja relented with a disappointed sigh and offered him a hand up.

"Fighting fair against an opponent twice your size gets you thrown on a pyre. The one left alive writes the tales, something to remember if you plan on playing Ser Valiant against Howe. Who is at least three times your size in his ability to make you miserable," she said when he'd chosen to get to his feet without her aid.

"I'm not eleven anymore, you don't have to worry. Who even told you about those stories, I swore Helena to secrecy," he said, appraising her dubiously.

"If you want to know about a noble, spy on his staff," she winked. "Some girl from the kitchens was reminiscing about your courtyard adventures. Had a thing for damsels in distress I hear. Very entertaining."

He knew she said those things just to see if she could make hims squirm and turn red. Unfortunately he could only consciously control one of those two things. "And your point was?"

"Just be careful. I didn't traipse across Ferelden to watch Howe stick a fork in you now.," she whispered, stepping in close to him. "I'm going to be late if I don't hurry. You can still come if you want." He shook his head. Drinking led to whoring, and it was enough to rail against his licentious urges sober. No need to give credit to any rumors he took after his father. "Alright. Your loss. I want to go change out of my leathers quick, but I don't want to give our illustrious scholar a chance to lose his nerve."

She handed him the staff and trotted off into the nearby courtyard. Did he like that she was taking the mage into the village to, quote, make his mind shut off for a night? Not entirely, but he understood the premise behind it even if he didn't agree it was a good idea. She wouldn't have listened to his objection anyway. Somethings weren't worth the hassle with the obstinate woman. And as much as she claimed Jowan needed a stiff drink and company, he was sure she needed to be out of the castle more.

The previous night she hadn't come to his bed until she had memorized all the ways out of the small castle. When he'd woken, she'd already gone. He'd found her later in library after a tip from a maid. Both of them asleep with a book in their possession. Both of which from his mother's collection of Tevinter classical works. He was pretty sure of the Gilmores, only Lorelai had taken the time to learn to read Arcanum from their mother. Their father hadn't seen the value of learning the language of a dying Imperium. He'd tried not to ruffle at the sight of her head on the mage's lap. He wasn't stupid, he'd felt her pulling from him. What could he do? Get angry about it. It wasn't as if they'd sat down and defined what the two of them had. Though now he wondered if they should.

However much she liked to down play it, her mind was never a serene place. He could see it in her features when she thought she wasn't being watched. Stolen glimpses into the roil of her mind. Whatever had caused her to leave the Wilds nearly three years previous had left its mark. She'd been on her own for most of it. She was bound to be a bit off, even for a Wilder.

Though personally on a sleepless night, he'd have gone to the training yard not the library. And that was the fundamental difference Roland wondered if they could overcome.

oOo

The chant spilled from the woman's mouth with all the passion and single-mindedness only the truly devoted could manage. In this rundown Chantry, in the middle of this rundown Bann, was a woman that sincerely loved that Chant, the Maker and his Bride with the same intensity she had loved her Jory. As she listened to the honeyed words, a sweetness for her ears, the knight lit the first candle with her taper.

A prayer for her unborn daughter left her lips. She hadn't ever said a proper good-bye, maybe because she'd never had a proper hello. Still an unconditional love burned in her breast, for the child she would never know. it would always sting, but the devastation at Ostagar had given the pain a new facet. The child had been her last piece of Jory. His loss may have been more bareable if she'd had his little girl to hold, to tell stories to and keep her husband alive if only for the pair of them. She'd tell her how he'd never shirked his duty, and had died honorably to protect them from the darkspawn. That was what happened, she knew her Jory. But Helena had failed to protect her. She could have ignored the elves, but that hadn't been who she was at the time and it wasn't fair to blame the elves for her loss.

She knew who she did blame. She'd never say it out loud, but it didn't mean Helena thought it any less true. Rory could be angry with his sister all he wanted for betrothing herself to Thomas Howe, but she was angry at another for refusing to do the same. I was no secret the Arl had wanted to bind the Couslands to the to his own family through blood. First it had been Delilah, who admittedly was a bit young at the time, before Fergus had been married. He'd tried again when his Lordship's daughter had come into her womanhood. Which was slightly odd given he had an older son, but if that was the strangest thing the higher nobility did it would make for a dull world. Elissa had never been mindful of her station, or its responsibilities. What was worse was that Daddy had indulged his Spitfire on nearly everything. It hadn't been as if the young Lady had had suitors lining up outside the gatehouse.

Helena moved the taper to the next candle, this one for her husband. She quickly rubbed the tears away as they escaped her, a contrite smile on her face as she remembered their first meeting. He'd come to best the newly dubbed Hornet in the annual tournament Highever held in the autumn, a compliment to Gwaren's in the spring. Even then he was a man that enjoyed competition, simply testing his blade against the next challenge. They'd actually ended up having a lengthy conversation on technique, he unaware that she was the Hornet or even that the Hornet was a woman. Helena had trounced him soundly, pulling off her helm to rub in how he'd gotten his arse handed to him by a 'delicate flower', as he'd called her. She'd bested him on every trip he made to Highever, it was an odd courtship; but the man had been persistent. Then one day he'd purposed making it interesting. If she won, he would never bother her again. If he'd won, she'd agree to marry him.

She'd never told him if she'd let him win or not. Now she never would.

"Are you alright?" asked the voice that had been devoted to the chant in a hushed tone at Helena's side.

"Yes. Thank-you for your concern. Everyone has lost something to the Blight," she answered, unwilling to play the poor me game.

"But that doesn't make your pain any less valid. I could listen, if you needed an ear," the woman offered.

"Maybe another time, Sister," Helena turned her attention to the woman. She was young, maybe twenty if the knight had to venture a guess. She wore her shoulder lengthy, dark red hair woven into a prim, thin braid that left the back loose. Her mouth formed a smile that made Helena feel like the Sister genuinely cared about her. She wagered the woman genuinely cared about humanity as a whole. It was infectious even. To Helena's surprise, just talking to the Sister for an instant was improving her day. Making it slightly brighter.

"Call me Lily, I'm only a Lay Sister; but you are welcome to seek me out at any time. I've been told I'm easy to talk to." She said, bowing her head slightly before going back to her evening duties.

The knight moved to the exit then, walking down the isle and nodding amiably to a few parishioners as they made eye contact with her. Helena opened the heavy door and the cool evening air hit her like a breath of fresh air. The sun hadn't quite set yet, but it was plunging into the horizon in a symphony of color. Helena paused a moment as she caught sight of her companions. She moved to intercept them and caught a bit of their conversation.

"Who builds a tavern next to a Chantry?" Vhaaja scoffed.

"Sin and salvation in one convenient stop," Jowan replied with a shrug.

"You think its a good idea to take a...um, _scholar, _out for a drink?" Helena interjected politely.

"No," Jowan answered first, earning him a glare from the Wilder.

"Trust me it will be fun. You can't stay cooped up forever, or whats the point? What could possibly go wrong? I'll be right there. If he tries to...um, throw a book at anyone I'll stop him." Vhaaja responded, pulling a reluctant Jowan with her through the Tavern's entrance. Helena couldn't think of one thing that could go wrong. She could think of hundreds.

oOo

"That feels kind of good," Jowan groaned.

"Are you sure you don't want to move to the bed?" Vhaaja asked softly, stroking his head.

"No, I just got the world to stop spinning. Don't want it to get any bright ideas," he said, sarcasm still firmly intact even while his face was pressed to the cool stone of the room he'd been allowed by the Bann with a bucket a short distance away. Just in case. He hadn't heaved since she'd gotten him into his room, but it was better to be safe than cleaning up an alcohol scented puddle. Vhaaja sat nearby, back propped against the wall underneath his oversized window. The shutters were wide open, letting in fresh air and the night sounds of late summer. Her fingers pulled through his newly trimmed hair, brushing gently along his scalp. It was a simple gesture, one she herself enjoyed. Vhaaja couldn't help but feel partially responsible. "Am I suppose to feel like I'm going to die?"

"I warned you not to mix. You could handle it, remember? You showed me," she joked. Poor thing, she should have remembered he probably hadn't much experience with drinking, having grown up in the Tower. It hadn't helped that the only other mage she'd ever met from the Circle had been able to out drink her, then pop up fresh as a daisy the next morning all cheery and obnoxious for a bit of hair of the dog if it suited him. But if she dwelled on every impulsive thing she did that ended badly she wouldn't be able to function.

"I didn't want to be rude. She was being so nice!" he said, a bit louder than he needed to. She shushed him a bit. No need to wake everyone.

"If you would have given her a sovereign she'd have been _extra_ **special **nice to you," Vhaaja took his following, pitiful, groan as sudden realization that the woman was a prostitute. "How can you be so smart and foolish at the same time?"

"How can your tiny body hold so much crazy?" he countered.

"Crazy is an awful strong word for someone that could leave you to drown in your own vomit," she threatened mockingly.

"I vaguely remember you dancing on a table..." he trailed off.

"Fine, you win. Don't say I never gave you anything," she chuckled. Vhaaja would be impressed if he remembered said victory in the morning. He answered with a sleepy mumble she couldn't discern. As he drifted into slumber, Vhaaja wondered what it meant that she'd rather be here with him as he clutched the floor like a lifeline than anywhere else.

_-The idiot,- _Desire threaded up, scoffing. -_There is another piece of his consciousness is here,-_

**-What does that mean?-**

_-Whatever has that piece, knows when he enters the Fade and can use it to track him within it.-_

**-Aren't mages easy to find?-**

_-A mage is easy. One out of countless, not so much. The Fade is a timeless soup of infinity. Its, what is the human phrase? A needle in a something.-_

**-How would it even get a piece of his consciousness?-**

_-As I said. He is an idiot. He most likely traded a memory for some trivial nick-knack. Mortals constantly underestimate the value of a memory in the Fade.-_

**-A demon could use this to stalk him?- **

_-Very likely. Waiting for his will to weaken. We have time to play the long view, the game of it is half of the entertainment.-_

**-Can you get this...piece of him?-**

The demon hesitated, thinking. _-For a mark...-_

**-Do it,- **Vhaaja said, not hesitating at all.

* * *

**a/n: **Big HUGE thank-you to Sesegirl, my amazing Beta. Thank-you to everyone who reviews, it really helps. As always please feel free to tell me how I could improve. Suggestions too, nothing is set in stone.


	10. State of Flux

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part Two: Blood Oath

* * *

**Chapter Ten: State of Flux**

* * *

The Fade was a place of shifting perspectives and landscapes, like dunes of sand transformed by the wind. It was a slow, yet constant flux. Desire lifted the other demon by its slender neck, "You are much to young to be more than a mere nuisance to me. Give me the idiot mage's memory and I will forget you exist."

Age was not registered by demons in months and years as it was with Mortals, for the Fade was timeless. Instead it was gauged by incarnations, how many times they'd possessed a Mortal and experienced the world outside their own. Desire was nearly five hundred, give or take. She'd been an ambitious youth. She was willing to bet the sniveling creature in her tightening grasp wasn't out of double digits yet. Desire sent a wave of power coursing through the weaker entity, a sensation of immense pain. Of fire licking up flesh a demon lacked. The other cried out and writhed in agony, making Desire's estimate of the demon's age drop further.

"You are still _Naive_ to many things it seems," Desire hissed, calling upon another of her experiences. The other's eyes bulged and she clutched at the talon like fingers wrapped around her throat as her mouth open and closed in feverish gulps. Demons did not have lungs either, but now this one knew what it was to have them burn for air and fill with water as she struggled in vain against the inevitability of death. Desire preferred Templar blade to drowning, but each experience had its own merits and transformed her into something greater.

The other tried to fight back with a surge of memory all her own, a recollection of just that. There was hesitation in the Templar's strike, it was someone he had known. Mortals had a thousand tells into their inner workings, Desire savored them. She was unfazed by the attempt but recognized fragments of the broken memory as a Harrowing chamber. Desire had a few Harrowings of her own under her figurative belt, some much more eventful. She lashed back at the other with the culmination of them all, the sheer volume giving the other pause.

Harrowings were a sick game Mortals played. The first step, coaxing a demon into a fold in the Fade and trapping them inside. They would then watch as the understandably upset party tried to claw its way out through an apprentice who was as helpless as the demon in avoiding the situation. It came down to the mage and the demon, and a demon always chose themselves over a lesser being, no matter how regrettable the circumstance. When the demon did manage to escape its prison by way of borrowed flesh, it was struck down by awaiting Templars. It wasn't even a sporting chance, but it was better than languishing as a pet in a cage. It wasn't even a pretty cage.

The other demon reached out then, defeated, offering a pulsating orb of electric blue light in the palm of her outstretched hand. As the orb transferred from the other to Desire, she released the demon; forgotten.

_-Why didn't you ask her what she gave him?- _Vhaaja asked, tingling at the recesses of Desire's consciousness.

**-That was not part of our arrangement,- **Desire responded, Mortals asked the most redundant questions at times, **-Why does it matter?-**

_-I was curious,-_ Vhaaja replied, her mind voice already on the edge of annoyance. Desire mused that the girl should watch her tone, of the two it was the Wilder that was insurmountably more vexing.

**-Then ask your idiot mage,-** Desire answered with a huff, _idiot mage_ fast becoming her new favorite phrase. Honestly the woman gave the simplest problems complexity.

_-Great idea. He won't suspect a thing. Don't forget he has experience banishing demons. Perhaps he is more clever than you give him credit for.-_

**-Doubtful. Let him try me. I am not some pathetic creature that preys on children or plays puppeteer to dead flesh. If he should ever be intent on the idea, you would be wise to advise him that there is more than one way for a mage to become severed from the Fade,- **Desire said, matter of fact.

_-Is that a threat?-_ Desire was silent. She hadn't meant for it to be, but mortals constantly made outlandish assumptions. Often to a demon's benefit.

**-If that is what you heard,- ** the demon purred, knowing ambiguity to be maddening for Mortals. They liked their world defined, everything with a name, in its place and assigned purpose. In the Fade things simply were, were not or in some state of limbo between the two. At the same moment some things could exist and not at the same time even, or exist in two places at once.

_-Just ask the demon now,- _Vhaaja demanded, in desperate need of a reminder which one of them was in charge on the Fade side of the Veil.

**-The terms of the agreement have already been fulfilled. She no longer exists to me,-** it was only Vhaaja's attention that kept the other from disappearing from Desire's consciousness altogether. In the Fade, to a demon, a deal was an equal exchange of energy, and could not be broken. An Oath once once sworn altered a demon's fluid reality, becoming a law of its existence.

_-She is **right **__there,-_ Vhaaja's mind voice fumed.

**-Only to you,-** Desire didn't know how to better explain it. The concept of a fractured simultaneous reality was as hard for a Mortal to comprehend as a singular shared one was for demons; but demons had longer to grasp it.

_-Can you give the memory back to Jowan?- _ Vhaaja asked hopefully.

**-If he accepts it. Mages are not in the habit of accepting gifts from demons,- **then again the mage in question was a fool.

_-Just. Try. Please.-_

oOo

With dawn's first light, Vhaaja had managed to get Jowan to the bed. She hadn't felt right about leaving him on the floor, and mused how he inspired her to be a slightly better person. As she slinked out the room as silently as she was able, she looked back a moment. It was heartening to see the tension gone from him, she'd decided that she would see him that way awake one day. Funny that the thought that they could part ways before then came only in afterthought. She smiled tritely at that, and dropped her gaze to the underside of her wrist. Branded there was Desire's signature mark, the constant reminder that she was indebted to a demon. It wasn't the first time, but the prices the demon demanded in return seemed less and less worth the cost. The important thing to focus on was that Jowan was safe, or as safe as any mage ever truly was.

She pulled the door shut with a soft click. Vhaaja bristled at the calm, masculine tone of Ser Gilmore, then cursed herself for being so distracted that he was able to catch her by surprise, "This is where you ended up then."

She craned her head to the side to look at him, her loose curtain of hair fell over the left side of her face. He was dressed in armor she hadn't seen before with his arms crossed examining her casually. She knew he had been eager to be rid of his borrowed scale and had apparently found a better quality replacement. Vhaaja pulled her gaze up, locking it on his. She wasn't sure what she saw there. On the surface they got on great, but seemed incapable of establishing a deeper connection. She was savage wonder and wilderness, he was rigid discipline and civilization. He never let on exactly what he thought, and neither did Vhaaja. Not unless pressed. And he seemed unwilling to question her on anything, not unless the matter was of grave importance. She was sorry that she'd given him the impression that was what she liked. It seemed so long ago now, the ghoul and her childish exit. It wasn't something she looked fondly back upon, it wasn't something she'd have done save for Desire's foul mood. On the other hand, she might not have returned for him without the demon's insistence that the only thing she would remove the mark for was Ser Gilmore.

What would the demon demand this time? Where was her line? Sky Mother knew if she even had one anymore.

It was hard to remember at times, that no matter how complex the matter was for Vhaaja, it was simple for the knight. She'd helped him escape Highever, then accompanied him to Ostagar. She helped him and Helena battle their way to Hunter Fell through roving bands of darkspawn. She'd slept with him to ease his inner turmoil, and had continued to do so several times a week since. Desire still needed to feed, even if she complained about it being the same boring meal over and over.

The dilemma was what that made them. Relationships were a new wrinkle for Vhaaja. What she'd had with Brambled Path had simply always been, they'd been the sun and moon to each other. Once she'd retreated in shame from the Wilds she'd only had a constant stream of lovers chosen by Desire's whimsy. A new flavor every night. The demon longed for a return to those times. Vhaaja cared about Roland, but no matter how much she wanted otherwise deeper feelings never blossomed. Part of her wondered if the demon's interference had made it impossible. Maybe, just maybe if she'd had him to herself alone she would have been able to love him.

"It was a bad idea," she started, an ache quivering in her chest as she spoke. The query formed behind his green eyes. With a half smile she clarified, "Nothing happened, he just needed someone to hold his hair back."

"Its the part where you needed to tell me nothing happened that has me most concerned," he said as his brow knotted. Dread settled over the Wilder, churning her stomach with bile. Vhaaja moved lean on the railing opposite the aged stone walls, their rooms above and overlooking the main hall. She rested her weight on her forearms, a cornered animal. Only this time she'd trapped herself. He came to stand next to her, leaning backwards on the railing. She could feel his gaze rove over her, "You spend a lot of time with him, doing nothing."

Vhaaja was pretty sure she'd never been more uncomfortable in her life. Scratch that, there was once, but she didn't even like thinking about that. It'd led to her exodus from the Wilds. She mused, staring down at the elegant blue carpet that ran the center of the chamber below, that it would be so easy to jump. Just push herself over the railing, roll as she hit the ground and scurry for the nearest exit. He'd never be able to catch her. That she hadn't done it yet made her wonder at how much she'd changed since Highever. He'd helped her become someone else after all, some one she'd been before she'd decided that dealing with a demon was the best course of action.

She felt saved when she heard Helena's voice. She too was dressed in new mail, only chain not scale, "We should talk later, shouldn't keep her waiting."

He leaned in and kissed her on top of the head, some how she knew it would be their last one. Even with the inevitability of the end in sight, it still saddened her, "Later."

oOo

"_Do you think I'm stupid?" Jowan asked the desire demon as her talons formed a cage around the white orb of light she offered, clearly annoyed. Around him were fragments of things he half remembered, tilted chairs and bookshelves and the sounds of laughing children. It was like an abstract rendition of the Tower Jowan mused. He came here often. He'd escaped the Circle yet at the same time was never completely free of it._

"_Yes," she sighed in exasperation, her form still instead of gyrating sensuously. The demon seemed different from his stalker. And that only concerned him more, what on Thedas was he doing wrong to attract so much attention? Was it the price of blood magic? "Just take it so I can be gone."_

"_No. If you want to give that to me so badly, then I probably shouldn't have it."_

"_Listen, idiot mage, I am returning what is yours," just brilliant. The demon had resorted to name calling. He shut his eyes and willed himself awake._

It was dark, his head nestled in the cradle of his arms. He could groggily recall where he was. He'd come down to the kitchens to force himself to eat. Off to the side was a small room with a table, some benches and a hearth with stew warming over the embers. He ventured a look out of his dark sanctuary, the candle light was garish in comparison. He'd apparently fallen asleep at the table, which was the least embarrassing of a long list of things he'd done since returning to the castle the night before.

"I am never drinking again," Jowan groan as his stomach roiled at the smell of Helena's midday meal. She sent across from him, sopping a piece of crusty bread into the steaming wooden bowl in front of her. In front of him was a cup of water and a slice of the same bread. His gut was too raw for anything else. The rich scent of the knight's stew sapped away any appetite he'd managed to muster since crawling out of his room. He'd been very wrong the previous night. It was the morning after that felt like dying.

"Everyone says that, I give it a week," Helena sympathized, then took a bite of her soggy bread. The sight gave Jowan the urge to heave and he retreated back to the cradle of his arms. With a nostalgic chuckle she added, "When I was your age, I'd be at the tavern every night I wasn't on duty. Be surprised how much respect you can earn going drink for drink."

"When you were my age?" his eyes narrowed dubiously as he peered out, a dark eyebrow arched, "How old could you be?"

"Firstly, that isn't a question you want to ask a woman for future reference. Secondly, older than I look I hope. I'll be seeing the big three-zero this year. Since you opened the box, what are you? Eighteen? Twenty?"

"I don't look that young do I?" he asked knitting his forehead, "Twenty-four or five actually," he shrugged, dropping his head again.

"How can you be twenty-four _or_ five? Seems like something you should know," she scoffed off hand.

"Can't remember if I was six or going to be six when I was left at the Chantry, I was a little distracted that year. Would have been nice of my parents to pin a note to my shirt though," Jowan mumbled without lifting his head, only a hint of snark.

"I'm sorry," Helena said.

"Don't be. I think its worse for the ones that get letters and visits. Muddles how things are with how they used to be. I had a clean break, can't say I was enamored with it at the time. But in hindsight it wasn't terrible," he said in a low voice. When he'd lived there he had likened the Circle to a prison. He'd since had an education in the Ferelden penal system, despite claims made to the contrary; mages from his Circle had no idea what true incarceration was like, "Could have been worse, as I've seen first hand."

"I for one am glad you came out for a jaunt," she said getting up, the wooden bench scrapped against the stone. As Helena passed him she ruffled his dark hair a bit, earning her another groan.

oOo

Later, Roland found himself relieved that Vhaaja had made herself scarce. Which he realized didn't bode well for how their talk would progress. Her fondness for the mage had been seamless, but it wasn't faithfulness he was concerned about. She'd been the lover of a mage before, maybe he'd never had much of a chance to begin with. Roland had expected outrage and anger at that, but there simply wasn't any there. As much as he hated to admit it, while Vhaaja had been striving to be that someone else she longed to be, Roland had been changing too. He was no longer the Highever knight. He didn't know who he was, or what he felt. Most of the time he was just numb.

Vhaaja had been a welcome distraction, but at the end of the day he'd decided it was unfair to be upset at the Wilder when he'd only been half in it himself. He had a plethora of of things to process before he would be a fit compliment for any woman. There was no reason that after slaying darkspawn together they couldn't handle the situation as adults.

Almost as he planned it, a knock came at his door. Roland opened it to reveal a worried looking Vhaaja. Clutched against her was vibrant purple fabric, a fancy purple dress with ruffles to be precise. The look of distress on her petite, slightly elf-blooded, features brought a wry grin to his thin lips. He stepped to the side and let her sweep inside. With the door shut she held the gown out before her, nearly thrusting it upon him, "I can't accept this, I can't even believe you remembered."

"You don't like it?"

"I adore it."

"I don't see the problem then, there is no reason we have to end whatever this is between us with yelling and breaking things. There will always be an understanding between us," he said pulling out a chair from a small round table on the wall closest to the door. He motioned for her to sit before taking up the chair on the opposite side. She sat gingerly, folding the gown up so it wouldn't dust the floor, "I'm pretty sure my sister wore that when she was fifteen, by the way."

"Which proves at one point she did have taste," she quipped, her expression dancing with amusement before it turned serious again, "I tried, I really wanted us to work."

"As did I," he confessed, this was easier than it should have been. It had always been too easy between them. Those weren't the romances the bards sang tales about, "I'd still like it if you'd let me escort you. Unlike Helena I can't dig my heels in and refuse to go, Lorelai is still my sister. Our scholar has also declined his invitation. I don't think I'd survive it alone. Especially if Arl Howe deigns to appear. If he can pull himself away from Loghain and his attempts at civil war long enough that is."

"Is that...allowed? We can just keep being friends?" The idea seemed to perplex her.

"I don't see why not, you are just going to have to learn to keep your paws off me," he said with a melancholy smirk. It would only be awkward if they let it.

"That I shall," she said, returning it with one of her own.

oOo

_-It appears your idiot mage has wizened up just in time for it to be inconvenient,-_ the demon responded when Vhaaja asked about her success in returning Jowan's errant memory. On one level she was proud of the man, but on the other she didn't quite trust Desire with it either. At least she knew Desire had no designs on using for him as a host. She closed the doors to the wooden wardrobe on the wall opposite the four poster bed, her dress was tucked safely inside. The Wilder then threw herself onto the soft mattress, letting the comfort envelope her, _-We are stuck with it.-_

**-What is it even of?- **Vhaaja asked with a yawn.

_-Haven't a clue. Want me to peek?-_

It was wrong, and she tried to resist. Her curiosity rose regardless. She should have remained steadfast, but found herself wondering what the harm would be. As soon as the demon felt the miniscule want flickering to life within Vhaaja's mind, Desire fanned the embers and made it burn until in a fit of frenzied passion a yes escaped her. Instantly she became absorbed in the demon's experience, at the same time vivid and surreal.

_She filled her apprentice robes nicely, there was no denying it. Her breasts just right, held against her chest by the tightness of the garment, which accentuated her perky rump in a similar fashion. He often thanked the anonymous party responsible for the female Circle issue attire. He'd have blamed it on Irving, dirty old man, if mages, or was it magi, hadn't been wearing the same before his time. Her dark hair was twisted into a haphazard bun from which spirals escaped to frame her heart-shaped face. He couldn't see them from here, but Jowan had always thought her freckles were sort of cute._

"_I know what I'm doing in the Fade tonight," Daylen said nudging Jowan with an elbow as he sat next to the other mage with a plate of food. While Amell was firmly under the belief he was being quiet, he was in fact doing a poor job of it. There were days he seriously doubted his uninhibited friend knew how to go about it. The woman narrowed her eyes in their direction. He was the one who had potion lessons with her later._

"_Brilliant. She can hear you," Jowan hissed, pushing his drab looking meal around with his fork so that none of the separate components touched, as the Maker intended._

"_Yeah she can," he responded, waving at her. Jowan noticed her grumbling to herself as she left. That was Daylen, making new friends everyday._

"_Remind me again why I keep sitting next to you?"_

"_Just can't get enough of me it seems," Daylen replied with a roguish grin, tossing an arm around his shoulders. He was only slightly taller than Jowan, but had a wider, more robust build. Not only was he naturally gifted with innate aptitude in magic and the ability to pass a proficiency exam without the slightest hint of effort, Daylen was also dashingly handsome and irresistibly charismatic. There was simply no justice in the world, Jowan was ever the shadow to his friend's radiance, "Which makes me worry about you, obsession isn't healthy. Need to get yourself a girl."_

"_Leave off," he said shrugging away Daylen's arm. His idea of getting a girl was convincing one to let him ruck her against an alcove wall while a Templar had his back turned. It was something that had gotten old, and now made him long for something deeper and more meaningful. All the more reason he wanted his Harrowing, it'd be the only chance he'd have at it. At anything._

"_Quick trysts are the whole reason we wear these robes, they fully expect it to happen. Its unnatural not to," Daylen insisted._

_Jowan sighed heavily as an uneasiness settled in his gut, "You heard that from _**him**_ don't even try to pull that off as your own wit."_

"_He escaped again a few nights ago, they haven't said anything about it of course," Daylen lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, proving that he was in fact capable of discretion and just chose not to use it most times. The mere mention of the older mage irritated Jowan, "This is his sixth time."_

"_Every time he gives Gregoir and Irving the laugh they just crack down harder on the rest of us. He's been caught five times too, and it won't be long before its six. The way you go on about him, its like Anders is some sort of folk hero," he paused, "but you want to be just like him don't you?"_

"_Only I won't get caught."_

_Of course he wouldn't. Jowan would, that was how it worked. Nothing bad ever happened to Amell, his life was a stroll through the fucking park. An intense flair of envious desire kindled to life suddenly and he could feel little else. He reigned it in just as quickly. Even if he was an arrogant, obnoxious know it all bastard; Daylen was still his best friend. And Jowan trusted him with his life._

The memory faded and again Vhaaja was fully aware of the bed beneath her. It had been the oddest experience of her life. For a sliver of time she and Desire had been Jowan. She'd known his friend, tasted his food, been surrounded by the scent of bodies and the sound of Templar plate as they shifted their weight in the background. She'd heard the din of a hundred voices, a few standing out above the others. She'd felt what it was like to have magic laying in wait, the sensation an echo of a forgotten time. Daylen's face had seemed familiar, after a second she realized it had been the same man who had been with Jowan as the Templars escorted him back to Kinloch Hold. No wonder he came to the Tranquil's defense. She got the feeling something had gone terribly wrong not too long after.

She'd readily recognized a name as well. Anders, her infamous knicker-weasel. It had been clear Jowan had held no love for the man. Vhaaja couldn't say she blamed him. To the Wilder's delight, beneath the man's quiet exterior was a fiery passion for life that could take the breath from her if she focused on it keenly. Jowan felt deeply, and strongly about so many things. Things she couldn't name but felt just the same. Now she'd had a taste of him, Vhaaja pined to know that side of him for herself and to learn what had happened to make one friend an apostate and the other Tranquil. It soon became apparent she was not the only one that craved more. Foreboding knotted in her stomach as she felt a prickle weave up through her mind as Desire spoke.

_-I've decided what I want.-_

* * *

**A/N:** Its a day late, but I figured it was better than rushing it. On the weekend I'm a paranormal investigartor, and I had two cases this weekend compounded with National Peeps Day saw that I had little time to myself. I hope every one enjoyed this installment, I especially liked getting to write Desire. I have a new idea in the works where I tell the demon's story, hopefully I'll have a decent chapter soon - its still in the brain storm phase mostly. I want to thank all my loyal readers and reviewers, and my lovely beta Sesegirl. Until next week folks!


	11. Sweetest Taboo

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part Two: Blood Oath

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Sweetest Taboo**

* * *

Early morning bird songs twittered into the room on the pleasant breeze. Shutters flung open to welcome the new day, Lorelai peered out of her bedroom window reluctant to actually start it. One day closer, her stomach clenched into a knot of dread. At the very least her efforts to keep the servants on the task of making Hunter Fell fit for company seemed to be paying off, much to the Bann's delight. It wasn't exactly how she'd imagined her wedding day, but she was determined to make the best of it. She certainly hadn't envisioned a groom barely old enough to shave. Though odds were she'd be equally unhappy with whatever man she decided to marry. Thomas Howe was a means to an end, the same way Lorelai was for his father the Arl.

There was a very specific reason Rendon had been avidly scouting for a wife for his son, despite his young age. It concerned the rumors that saturated court concerning the boy's preferences, rumors that the Arl wanted firmly abolished. The man did not brook embarrassment well. At the very least she didn't have to worry herself about bastard spawn crawling out of the wood work like vermin. She'd just sent the remainder of her father's brood to fill out any kitchen in the Bannorn that would have them. She couldn't stand the sight of the lot. Roderick and Reginald, her father's intended heir and spare, had not looked favorably upon this action. She'd sent them packing as well, sent to the Gilmore estate in Denerim and well out of Lorelai's sight. Let them plot, she was confidant that she had enough wit and with all to keep them from being a true threat. They'd be less still when she could name herself among the Howe's.

The window looked out over the training yard, where the Wilder was barking orders at a line of men; the Bann's contingent of archers to be precise. She'd called them ineffectual and lazy, then preceded to petition Lorelai for permission to whip them into some semblance of passable prowess. Had her brother truly thought that a Gilmore man could handle a woman of that magnitude? Watching her sent a heat racing down her loins, clenching her sex and bringing a touch of moisture to her thigh. Thomas Howe wasn't the only one who's tastes ran contrary to what was deemed acceptable in a Ferelden noble.

What were politics but an excuse to stick one's nose where it didn't belong? Lorelai mused.

"It appears I've been replaced," came a low, husky voice from behind the Bann. She turned and grinned wickedly. She hadn't heard the elf enter, but few ever did. The elven woman was more than a head shorter than Lorelai and waif thin. Her golden blonde hair was cut short, framing her angled face with finger length wisps that seemed to dance about her crown in defiance of gravity. They were such beautiful people, the Bann lamented.

"Never Lian, she's just so savage," she came away from the window and closed the distance between herself and the elf. She reached out and cupped the other woman's face, her creamy skin tone in contrast to the elf's caramel tan. A knowing smirk twisted Lian's cruelly articulated lips.

"No, I understand. Are you familiar with the Dalish?" she asked, her sharp features softening as she leaned into the Bann's caress.

"Not personally. Do you have anything for me?" Lorelai asked, dropping her hand. She stared into Lian's eyes. They had so much color and depth when compared to human eyes. It was like looking into the soul of the world. Lian's were a vibrant shade of fresh spring greenery.

"I don't think your brother will be an issue. Only trouble he's been causing is at the expense of the darkspawn. It was good thinking on your part to put him to work on the Bann's defenses. Your older knights are a bit ruffled by his audacity though."

"Good, it will keep the old fools on their toes. No new women then?" she asked wrinkling her nose.

"Not yet. He seems to have taken after you, he's actually productive. There is also this strange rumor," Lian put a small hand to her chin as she thought, the angle of her head bringing to attention the inhuman slope of her brow, "Its probably nothing."

"Tell me anyway. It could prove useful."

"Mists are rising in the southern Bannorn. Thick blankets of it for miles. Something about the Chasind taking their mists with them. Which is complete and utter nonsense I might add. I haven't actually talked to anyone who has seen them, all my information is second hand. We are talking about folk that believe there is a fish in your garden pond that will grant them three wishes."

"Didn't you start that fish rumor?"

"I didn't realize you bumpkins were so gullible, and I was bored. This isn't exactly Denerim," Lian shrugged.

"Interesting none the less. I may have you look into it."

"And be away from my Lady love?" she said with humor, her eyebrow arching in suspicion of an ulterior motive.

"I'll have a husband in two days," Lorelai reminded.

"That boy hasn't ever touched a woman, and he isn't going to start with you until daddy asks him where his heirs are. Its him I'm..." Lian trailed off.

"Exactly. I know how you get."

"I hate to share. You can take the elf out of the Alienage, dot dot dot," she said with candid amusement.

"I do what I do for us, for you. You know that. I can only protect Hunter Fell and change things for the better if I wield the power to do so," Lorelai moved closer to her, then placed her forhead against Lian's, "I'd understand if you wanted to run away and join the Dalish though."

"They're a bunch of prudes anyway," Lian lifted herself on her toes to cover the Bann's mouth with her own, drinking in the taste hungrily. When she pulled away, both of them were breathless. She nudged Lorelai backwards until the backs of her knees made contact with the bed. Lian then pushed Lorelai with enough force to send her back onto the mattress with a bounce. The elf's expressive eyes smoldered as they roved the Bann's frame. Lian moved up her body fluid as water until she was straddling her, peering down at the human with overpowering heat, "Now, _Shem_, I'm going to show you how your wedding night should be. Twice."

oOo

As the wedding loomed ever closer, Roland found himself angrier and angrier. Following Vhaaja's sagely advice he was harnessing his anger for productive tasks. Namely killing darkspawn that were steadily making their way north in greater numbers. He'd also taken responsibility of seeing that the castle's defenses were in order. The one positive about Hunter Fell's rocky terrain was that it formed some highly defensible positions, and his ancestors had known exactly where the best place for a castle was. What had him concerned were the service tunnels that wound underneath the keep. He wouldn't have the man power to correct them until after the wedding.

"You really should know better," Helena said, jamming the needle into his flesh with little if any sympathy. He'd hoped the wound would stop bleeding on its own, that way he'd been able to keep his stupidity to himself. But every time he moved he seemed to reopen the wound and cause it to bleed again. By the time they'd returned to the castle that afternoon it was apparent that it needed attention, "Squires don't leave themselves open for this. Yes, you are used to having a shield; but you've always been nearly as proficient with the two-handed sword."

Spitfire barked her agreement from where she was curled on the floor in front of the low burning fire. The rest of the room was neat and orderly. Everything in its place, and a place for everything. On the small round table in front of him, identical to the ones in the other rooms on this floor, sat the woman's copy of the Chant of Light. The cover was worn, the pages were nicked and uneven. He looked away from it, fixing his gaze on the stone floor at his feet.

"I've been distracted," he said, giving no outward sign of discomfort as the needle slide through his skin. Helena had done it many times before, not just for him. Her slender fingers were apt for the job.

"That's not like you Rory. You didn't used to be so reckless. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. This isn't what you want to hear from me," she pushed the needle through for another pass, her stitches small and thoughtful, "But getting yourself killed isn't going to help anyone. She'll have the wedding over your funeral pyre. Just to spite you. You know that."

"I thought that I'd have time to stop this atrocity, that some grand scheme would manifest itself. But its really going to happen."

"It is. But your sister is just as stubborn as you Rory. The Arl has simply met his match," she paused to tied off her work, "There all done. You can slap a poultice on that yourself. I still think you should have gone to Jowan. He could have had this done in a minute."

"Less likely to end up with a scar this way," she said with a chuckle. Getting jabbed with the needle was probably less painful option as well. Healing burned as the flesh knitted back together. He was unsure if it was the way healing was suppose to feel, or one of Jowan's special quirks, "Besides, Vhaaja has me paranoid after she pointed out that elf that was following me. Just like Lore to sick a spy on me. My sister would hand an apostate to the Chantry for a pat on the head."

"I'd have done the same not too long ago," Helena admonished, washing her hands off in a basin on her vanity.

"And now?" Roland asked.

"He's not such a bad guy. He's smart and funny, both in the 'haha' way and the 'that's a bit strange' way. But who wouldn't be a bit odd after being cooped up so long. I used to think it was a necessary evil, and now I'm not so sure," she came and heavily dropped into the chair across from him.

"I'm protecting Lore really. Vhaaja is liable to set Hunter Fell on fire rather then let the mage be taken quietly. Then where would I live?" he said with a humorless half smirk, "It was only suppose to be awkward if we let it."

"But?"

"Its still awkward, and I kind of miss her being around."

"It'll take time. You should come to me tonight to the Chantry. A little prayer and reflection can go a long way," her gaze hopefully dropped to the book between them.

'I think I'll pass, the Maker and I aren't on speaking terms," he said as he lifted himself from the chair.

"None of us are, that's why its important. But suit yourself."

oOo

Jowan moved past the slightly opened door. A flash of vibrant purple fabric caught his attention. He halted, then took a few steps backwards. His hand hovered above the wood for a moment before he knocked. The call for him to come in came almost immediately. He closed the door behind himself, the very idea of privacy still new and intoxicating.

Before her vanity's mirror Vhaaja twirled once, examining the boisterous dress with wonder. It was tight across the bodice, designed for a woman with no bust to speak of. The bottom belled out. At the hem upwards were several rows ruffles, composed of the same purple fabric and white lace. Her hair was tied up sloppily with her purple scarf. It had actually been her mother's, and was the only possession she retained from the woman. Despite loathing the elf on one level, she still held on to that piece of the Magister.

She turned her head towards him as she came to a stop. The smile she wore extended from ear to ear. It was a solid reminder that no matter how tough the exterior, on the inside she was an awkward girl that wanted to go home amongst familiar things. It was a home she insisted she lost because of her own foolish mistakes. It was difficult to judge if that was indeed true or if she was being overly critical of herself. She never talked about it in detail. Which seemed just as well, since he was reluctant to share the story of his own self-imposed exile.

Vhaaja opened her mouth to form the quip, he supplied the words with a knowing half grin, "Yes, very much so."

She snorted in response and smugly returned to her reflection, "Don't patronize me. I know its out of fashion."

"Do you know what the height of fashion was at the Tower? Tevinter style robes, you know the kind. The ones with the feathered pauldrons," he curled his lip with distaste, then took a seat on the bed so he could see what she was seeing in the mirror.

"You might look handsome in feathered pauldrons. All dark and tortured," she teased, the eyes of her reflection meeting his. The concupiscence behind her bistre eyes quickened his pulse. Just being around her most times had a stimulating effect on his body, filling his stomach with butterflies of anticipation.

"Little ostentatious don't you think?"

She laughed, "You should see what shamans wear. And to top it off each one has a unique mask depicting some fierce Wilder beast," she made fangs with her fingers and dangled them in front of her face like spider mandibles, "They're only for the high holidays of course," she twirled again, "I feel like a butterfly."

"In a couple days you'll be fluttering around the dance floor like one anyway," it was then her eyes widened noticeably before she nodded in agreement. She then looked away and busied herself with straightening her gown. Her smile twisted, a subtle change that could be easily missed. Its meaning didn't elude Jowan, "Nervous?"

"A bit. When the Chasind dance there is a bonfire and copious amounts of alcohol," she said, plopping down onto the mattress next to him, close enough he could feel the heat of her body radiate off of her. He resisted the urge to touch her, "I kept meaning to have Rory show me what is expected of me, but he's been busy. And things have been..."

"Awkward?" That earned him a sidelong glare.

"That obvious?"

"Stick a bunch of young people in a Tower and you get a bunch of drama. Its a law of nature. I know it when I see it," he said with a shrug, "They did teach us more then how to make our fingers sparkle and regrow eyebrows."

"Are you suggesting you may be the solution to my little dilemma?" she said lifting a dark brow.

"Try not to look so surprised," he said getting off the bed less gracefully then he'd hoped, "Dancing takes a certain amount of mental discipline, and is a useful exercise for casting. Plus we had festivities at the Tower too, like Satinalia. Its not like they chained us to the wall and beat us, well not most of us. The Templars had their favorites, but they often earned it. We used to even get to go outside on occasion."

"Used to?" she asked hopping off the bed.

"I believe your _'knicker-weasel'_ swam Lake Calenhad and gave the Templars the laugh. Which only made them re-evaluate the value of such excursions. He barely got a week out of it, hope it was worth it on his end," he sighed, and offered his hand, "Lets start with something simple shall we?"

She smirked, amused by either his show of tentative bravado or sarcastic commentary. He wasn't sure which. With and exaggerated curtsey she took his hand, "I'd love to, ser scholar-me-not, how very kind of you to ask."

Jowan shook his head at that, unable to banish the smile brought to his lips by her playfulness. He placed her right hand at his waist, then took the left in his own. He counted off the steps and explained the dance to her as he went. She was cute, her brow knotted in concentration and her head tilted downward to watch their feet. He'd expected to have to fight her, convince her to let him have the lead. Instead she relinquished it without a qualm. Another piece of the puzzle to mull over as he tried to push aside thoughts of his rising arousal.

After she'd mastered that part of the dance, he pulled away and placed his palm flat and nearly touching Vhaaja's as she mirrored his action. They revolved around each other, their eyes holding the other's stare. This part was all about the intimacy of the non-touch. Anticipation. Following the third revolution, he clasped his hand around hers and gently tugged her forward. Her foot caught on the small area rug beneath them and she pitched forward.

The pressure of her against him made Jowan feel heady and emboldened. He looked down at her against his chest, fingers wrapped around his upper arm to steady herself, her lips slightly parted in a silent apology. He shouldn't. It was pushy, and completely unlike him. Those thoughts ceased to matter as she righted herself, all the while still pressed against him. Blood roared in his ears, and he could feel the thrum of life coursing as voraciously through her veins as his own. She pressed her hips to him. The feel of her rolling against his growing erection coaxing a low sound from his throat. He could think of nothing else but how he wanted her, to taste her, to savor every bit of her. Maybe it was time to stop backing down.

White hot desire and need overrode his senses, provoking action ahead of his mind filtering it. Before he could register he'd moved, he was gulping in her twisted smile. Vhaaja offered no resistance or even hesitation, meeting him with a desperation all her own. Jowan's hands went to the back of her head, fingers tangling into her hair. There was no telling how long it could last, every drop of passion was deliberate and sacred.

Both heaving, they finally drew back for air, "That was," Jowan searched for a word worthy of such an intense experience, his skin still afire where their bodies met. She looked up, dark eyes full of heat, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled him back down to her with force, her lips eager for another taste. Yes. That was exactly what he'd been thinking.

oOo

Trying to stay strong for Rory was a constant strain on Helena. It seemed almost daily she resisted the urge to scream at him and think of someone besides himself. Perhaps men were ill-equipped to perceive a woman's hurt. It often went unnoticed unless there were tears involved. Did he even realize that this wedding might be difficult for her as well, that the last one she'd attended had been as a bride? It was suppose to be the first day of the rest of her life, of their life together. It wasn't enough. They'd both been knights, instruments of war. They had both known death was a real possibility. But the difference between that and actuality was a keen edge; separated by an eternity of wasted time.

In the run down Chantry in the heart of Hunter Fell, the young widow prayed for strength. She also prayed that Rory would make peace with what his sister had to do. Whether it was because of her age or gender, Helena could clearly see it was the best course of action. Did she hate Arl Howe? Certainly. No one liked him, yet alliances in these dark times were more important than ever. It was bound to get worse still with no end to the Blight in sight, and civil war on the horizon. Neutrality was dangerous. While Eamon Guerrin was indeed a force, he was no Hero of the River Dane. Teyrn Mac Tir eclipsed him easily, even if he did start life as a commoner. Maybe more so because of that fact in Helena's opinion. Right or wrong, Lorelai's decision to bind Arl Howe to Hunter Fell had been clever and had taken a good deal of social maneuvering on her part. Helena couldn't help but admire the woman, who made no apologies for the way things had to be.

"You look troubled," said a familiar voice of lay-sister Lily from next to her on the pew. At this late hour, the rest of the Chantry was deserted and peaceful. In the weeks since their first meeting, the knight had returned often. Little by little, the persistent sister had gotten Helena to share her grief. Surprisingly it had helped ease the burden bit by bit.

"The wedding brings up dark thoughts, we always thought we had so much time," she trailed off, carried back to a sliver of her own wedding. It had only been a year and a half, but it felt like peering into the story of someone else. Maker, she'd felt as out of place in her finery as Jory had looked in his. They'd been eager to be out of them for more than one reason.

"Its the same with many of the young widows. They all come here to looking for answers they have to find for themselves," Lily said solemnly, her empathy for their pain unmatched.

"But I'm suppose to be strong," Helena responded, clenching a fist.

Lily reached over and covered Helena's fist with her hand, "Love has a way of making us strong and weak all at the same time."

"You sound like you have experience in the matter. Have you ever been in love, sister?" Helena asked softly. The turnabout was fair play.

The woman's demeanor changed instantly, chilling from warm and bubbly to serious and resolute. She panned over to meet Helena's in the eye, tears forming at the corners, "I thought I was, but he forced me. Blood mages can do that, control your mind. But maybe I should start at the beginning. His name was Jowan, and I met him at the Circle of Magi. I was an initiate then."

oOo

It had been weeks since Desire had fed. How much longer she could resist the demon's demands was a serious concern. She'd have given in earlier that night if Jowan hadn't insisted they weren't in a hurry. That slow was a luxury he wanted to enjoy. Thank the Sky Mother he had resolve where hers had failed. She loathed the idea of repeating her past mistakes, the taste of him still lingered on her lips.

In that pure sensual moment Jowan held her to him, where her body had molded instinctively against his of its own accord with need so powerful she was unsure her knees couldn't support her weight and his own need pressed hotly against the roll of her hips spurred him to brazenly catch her in a kiss; Vhaaja felt Desire rise from the recesses of the her consciousness to claim her due. It was in that moment the Wilder knew that no matter the cost, she could not let the demon share in this. Desire would ruin it. Vhaaja needed this, needed to know she was still capable of feeling this way. Jowan would be hers alone.

_-I accept the terms of the deal,- _Desire's voice echoed ominously, always a flair for the dramatic that one.

Vhaaja hissed softly against the pain as she pulled the dagger's sharp blade along one of the creases in her hand. Sluggishly crimson oozed up from the shallow cut, pooling in the cradle of her palm. She pressed the palm to the mirror of her vanity as she stared into the gaze of her reflection. The cool breeze blew through the open shutters with force then, capturing the tendrils of loose hair and dancing them wildly about her crown. Blood seeped down, leaving rivulets of red along the glass.

"By my blood I bind you; an Oath for a mark is sworn," she said in a harsh whisper. The words seemed to reverberate regardless. As she continued to stare unblinking into her reflection, it flickered and for a moment Desire's face was transposed upon her own. Then the glass cracked around her palm and the scent of charred flesh wafted up. Removing her hand from the fractured glass, she turned the limb over to examine the underside of her wrist. A second mark had joined the first. Desire had been momentarily thwarted, but Vhaaja already knew it was far from over. The demon would get her due, and it would only get harder.

* * *

**a/n:**_ How did I do? Are you ready for the world to implode a bit next chapter? I certainly am. Thanks as always to my lovely beta Bonkzy (the author formerly known as Sesegirl) and the readers that stick with me week after week._


	12. Lon Dubh

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part Two: Blood Oath

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Lon Dubh**

* * *

The surface of the pond was still, not even the wind stirring it to ripple. Vhaaja had only ever seen water so in paintings, there was a serene beauty in it. But it wasn't the sight she was after. There had to be running water of some sort, else green and brown scum would have claimed the pool. Unless cleaning it out was one of the ground keeper's duties, it would explain why he was the most miserable elf she'd ever laid her eyes upon. After an hour spent peering into its depths, Vhaaja doubted there were any fish at all in the pond. Let alone one that could grant her wishes. It wasn't the first time it occurred to her during her endeavor that the story had been just that. But she'd thought the same of Flemeth once. It never hurt to verify.

The wilder had been up before dawn's light swept over Hunter Fell. Waking up early was too much a habit to break. Sleep didn't come easy for her, not since bonding with the demon. Another mind churning thoughts in the back of one's mind was a distracting matter. Rolling over and returning to slumber hadn't been a feasible option either. Though she never seemed to lack for sleep when she woke either, even with it being an evasive beast. Just another odd side effect of her bond with Desire.

Vhaaja wasn't used to being idle, but Bann Gilmore had declared the next three days a holiday. A lottery had been used to assign which men would be on duty on which day. Some guests had already arrived, but the groom and many others were due throughout the day. Lorelai wasn't expecting a large turnout according to Roland. She was sure the Blight would curtail the crowd. Vhaaja would have thought the reverse to be true. The wedding was the perfect excuse for frivolity and a possible distraction from Ferelden's ailments. Instead of the training grounds, she'd meandered to the gardens. She merrily absorbed the solitude. Left to Desire's wont she'd be rubbing up against potential partners like a cat in heat. Here there were no added temptations to do so.

"There you are," came Helena's shrewd voice from behind her. Vhaaja physically and mentally stiffened. If there was charm in the knight's demeanor, it was lost on the wilder. The day had hardly begun and the woman was in a snit. Vhaaja took a shaky breath to reign in her mood, already foul thanks to her eager to be fed demon. A shortened temper rarely helped anything.

Vhaaja craned her head to look over her shoulder at the woman. In a beige tunic belted at the waist over fawn colored trousers Helena stood with her hands on her hips, sharp lines of her elbows jutting out like a bird ruffling its feathers. Her long black hair, usually braided and twisted up into a tidy bun, was tied at the nape of her neck in a low tail. Her stalwart blue eyes pierced though the wilder. The grave expression she wore was a good indication that she wouldn't like what was to come, and she braced herself for it.

Vhaaja unfolded her crossed legs, gracefully coming to stand. She casually brushed the dirt from the bottom of her mustard yellow gown. She was beginning to miss hides and furs, wool seemed only to make her itch. With it she wore a new leather bodice she'd bought with her barrel winnings. It was about time her natural curiosity garnered her something, usually it just found her in trouble. She'd admired the vibrant orange hue. It fastened with white bone buttons up the center. Vhaaja relished color, a trait she must have inherited from her mother. Of the times she'd seen her father at the shaman gatherings he wore little but black leather trimmed with equally black fur or feathers. His mask had been that of a dark panther. Not exactly a happy sort of man, but he was feared. If the Blight hadn't killed him yet, of course. Else he was just dead.

"Is this where you confess your undying love and we run off together, steal a ship then live as pirate queens?" Vhaaja asked, not even attempting to keep the grin from stretching across her face. Might as well start this meeting of the minds with humor, it certainly wasn't going to end with any.

The knight was silent for a long moment before she narrowed her eyes in warning at the wilder, "Its time to be serious, if you can manage it. I learned something important from a sister at the Chantry last night."

"Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe," Vhaaja said crossing her arms tightly across her chest. Mother's Mercy, she barely came to the woman's shoulder. Perhaps she should keep her mouth shut. Her lips curled slightly at the thought, it wasn't one of her strong points on a good day. As it was Vhaaja was straining herself to remain civil.

"She was a sister at Ferelden's Circle of Magi previously," Helena's tone was sterner than usual.

"Bully for her," Vhaaja snipped in response, wishing the knight would stop taking the round-about way to her point.

"She knew our mage, intimately," she said, then closed the distance between herself and Vhaaja with a couple of steps. In a whisper the woman continued, "He's a blood mage. He's deceived us all."

The world was still for a second as the news shattered the earth beneath her. At first all she could feel was paralyzing fear and her chest tightening with worry. Panic rose, but she swallowed it, where it tied her innards into a knot. If Helena knew, Jowan's safety was compromised. Years of dealing with a demon whispering naughty bits in her ear had trained her to school her face and keep her emotions from appearing there. Briefly imagess of Jowan meeting a Templar blade or being tied to a stake surrounded by flame danced across her mind's eye. Just as suddenly she banished the thoughts as nonsense, but the feelings they had provoked lingered. Vhaaja would never allow events to progress that far, she would protect him. There was relief in realigning herself with the sacred duty she'd given herself over to as a child.

Desire on the other hand was livid. To her mind the idiot mage had put them in a precarious position. Vhaaja herself thought it was silly to be upset over it. They would be in the same 'precarious position' if she'd known about his blood magic or not. Vhaaja imagined one confessed to being a maleficar as often as Vhaaja admitted to sharing her mind with a demon. Even with her rationalizations, Desire's intense feelings bleed and colored her own. The fact remained that if he'd told her from the start she'd still have kept it from the knights. The same as she had with the information Jowan had given her of Redcliffe. Neither Helena or Roland would have seen sense over their devotion to the Maker or their duty respectively. She had protected them from their own ignorance to smooth their transition to Hunter Fell. She doubted either knight would see it that way though.

"What did she tell you exactly?" the wilder asked coolly.

Helena recounted what Lily had told her. That she'd fallen in love with Jowan, or at least thought she had. For him she had forsaken her vows to the Maker. At this, while Vhaaja regarded it with little thought, Helena listed it as the first of the man's sins. When Lily had learned the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander had signed off on Jowan's Rite of Tranquility, Lily had warned him, then preceded to help him execute their escape from the Circle. The first item on this agenda to ferret their way into the secured chamber in the Tower's basement and destroy Jowan's phylactery so the Templars couldn't track him. To do so he'd enlisted the aid of his closest friend. The three of them were caught, but not before the vial of Jowan's blood had been shattered.

It was here that Jowan had apparently shown his true colors, taking a blade to his hand and pushing back the Templars. Helena found it horrifying, Vhaaja was impressed. He'd managed to escape, wanting to take Lily with him but she had refused. She willingly accepted her sentence, the Templars had seemed to think that she would be sent to the Aeonar, the Chantry's magical prison. Yet men were not the head of the Andrastian faith, and thus they brought the girl before the Grand Cleric for judgment.

The old bat had obviously known nothing of magic to believe that the girl's mind had been altered by blood. Obviously under the influence of an evil maleficar, the Grand Cleric took pity on the girl. Ultimately the woman had been allowed to return to the Maker's service as a lay-sister. And fate had seen her to Hunter Fell, in Helena's opinion a much needed warning. And to Vhaaja a conundrum.

When she'd finished, Helena waited for Vhaaja to respond. Vhaaja struggled a moment, but decided the best course of action was to redirect as much of the fallout from her mage to herself as possible. She almost laughed at that, when had she started to think of Jowan as hers? "I hate to disappoint you, but the deception is mine. He thinks I've told you both."

"What do you mean?" Helena asked, anger starting to brighten her features.

"I've known about Jowan. I kept it from you and Roland because I knew it would complicate things unnecessarily. Your delicate Chantry sensibilities interfere with your ability to see sense."

"You knew the entire time he was a maleficar?" Helena's hands clenched into fists, her knuckles turning white in a matter of moments, "You put us all in danger."

"This is exactly what I meant. Without Jowan we wouldn't have made it to Hunter Fell."

"But we had your bow. We would have made due," she said.

"I think you are forgetting how the orge almost crushed the life from you, and how effective my bow was in that case," Vhaaja replied.

"Trust me, I have not. he saved my life, and I have saved his by coming to you instead of bringing him to the attention of the Chantry. Honor dictated no less," she sounded disappointed by the fact.

"There was no way around it Helena. We needed him, I won't apologize. I have as many spells left on my bow as I have fingers on one hand. Two of those are useless flares."

"It wasn't your decision. Blood magic is an affront to my Maker, I would have rather died than taken aid from a maleficar."

"And you would have. Long before Jowan. Spells off my bow are activated by my blood, and it was through my blood and my shaman's magic they were woven into it to begin with. Think you we have an abundance of lyrium in the Wilds, and that is why the Templars hunt our shamans?"

"I don't know what to think about you anymore, but I do know blood magic is evil. Perhaps the Templars have the right of it in regards to the Chasind," Helena spat in a low hiss.

Vhaaja could feel her face getting hot, "If you know what is good for you, you will turn around and walk away."

Trying hard not to hit the shorter woman, Helena said, "I plan to. But know this, if you have a shred of decency in that black, twisted organ you call a heart you will tell Rory. If you don't today, I will tomorrow morning. Your choice, and the last bit of Maker's Mercy you'll get from me."

Helena turned on her heel, with long strides she was soon out of Vhaaja's sight. At least Helena didn't seem keen on shouting maleficar from the highest tower and pointing menacingly in Jowan's direction. But that was just one problem avoided. Next would be convincing Roland to overlook the fact, or at least keep it to himself. That still left the issue of this delightful sister that could have told her story to every soul in Hunter Fell. Was it truly fate or was it chance that had brought Jowan here of all places. Vhaaja could no longer fathom a difference between the two.

_-__We __could __make __her __disappear__,-_ Desire chimed in, taking delight in the notion.

Vhaaja brought a hand to her mouth to contemplate it. She no doubt wanted to. Maybe leave her defenseless in a heavily wooded area with no inkling of where she was. It was the same as she had done to him, She'd known how helpless freshly escaped Circle mages were. He'd lied to her, yes. But he hadn't done so out of malice. He'd hidden his blood magic for the same reason she hid Desire. She'd claimed to love him, yet she'd abandoned him when he'd needed her most. She'd chosen Aeonar.

Vhaaja had forged a partnership with a demon to avenge her beloved. That was love. Wasn't it?

Finally she shook her head, **-****No****, ****its ****too ****late ****for ****that****,-** and it was something he'd never forgive her for.

The wilder took her time trudging back to the main hall, now decorated for the impending event. In the courtyard guests were starting to make their appearances, socializing with each other and forgetting they were in the middle of a Blight. Vhaaja used the time to try and still her mind. The demon's emotions had so overpowered her own that she was vibrating with rage when she knew she should not be. She cursed Desire with every step, and the demon cursed her back. She pushed into the hall with a single-minded determination. The Chantry liked to think demons broke down into neat little categories that they could assign sins to. But the Chantry was wrong about a lot of things. She wasted little time ascending the stairway to the second level.

Softly she knocked at Jowan's door. She reminded herself to stay calm. She would be no use to her worrisome mage if she herself was spiraling into anxiety. It was here that Desire interjected Vhaaja's inherent weakness when it came to mages, and refreshed her memory on her misadventures with the last one she'd devoted her protection to. He'd betrayed her. No that wasn't accurate. She'd trusted him. She'd forgotten a Circle mage wasn't a shaman. They hadn't been taught to respect their bow-mage.

The demon tried her best to seed doubt in her surety of Jowan. Despite the efforts, Vhaaja found it hard believe he'd do anything to hurt her on purpose. This was the man she'd challenged Desire's whims for, the demon could hardly be called unbiased in her opinions. Jowan had changed the game, a game Desire had enjoyed a great deal. The demon did have a point. Maybe she was being to trusting.

By the time the door opened she had worked herself into a temper. Jowan stood there in trousers and his blue tunic that laced up the front thrown haphazardly over himself. A patch of dark hair peeked out from the untied garment. He wasn't nearly as slight as he had been on their first meeting. He was narrow chested compared to Roland's figure. But he was still very much a man, and she'd always preferred lank to bulk. The product of two mages, she should hardly wonder that she was innately attracted to the build. Though her father looked nothing like a Tower mage, and her mother had been twice as wicked as he looked.

She noticed something else as her eyes drank in the sight of him. The strength of Desire's voice began to fade and her consciousness retreated to the recesses of Vhaaja's mind. So far back that the wilder had to focus to tell if the demon was still there at all. That was an unexpected side effect, but not one she was about to complain about. It was almost too good to be true. With the demon pushed back, the anger she'd inspired evaporated. For the first time in three years there was silence. Beautiful silence. Being alone with her thoughts was immediately refreshing. In place of the simmering anger was her need to see Jowan safe.

For the first time since the Templars had come and she'd sought the Witch of the Wilds, the world was once again a simple place where she could divine her place and path with startling clarity. Without knowing it, the man that stood groggily before her had become her sanctuary.

To be free, Vhaaja had needed her hands tied.

oOo

"Why don't you come in," Jowan said after Vhaaja had slipped passed him without a word. The door clicked shut and he turned to watch her as she paced rapidly, hands splayed on either hip with candid annoyance. Finally she stopped, and looked up at him. Her brow furrowed in concern as she decided where to start. He brought a hand to his chin in a thoughtful gesture, folding his other arm over to support his elbow. Cautiously he asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Are you a blood mage?" she asked in a low voice. Her tone made it clear that what he said next would determine the course of the conversation. He knew he couldn't lie to her, if she was asking she knew. She deserved his honesty, even if dread collected in his gut at the prospect.

"I've dabbled," he said at length.

A sigh that almost sounded like relief escaped her. Before he could give the noise more thought, she moved swiftly passed him to the door. Finger on the lock, she flicked it and the bolt fell into place with a thunk. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He sharp words punctuated the chasm of silence between them, "We have a problem."

"It was stupid, I won't waste my breath denying it. But put yourself in my robes for a second. They don't welcome blood mages with open arms, not most places on Thedas," he began then set himself down heavily on the end of his bed, which faced the door. He dropped his gaze to the floor and pulled his fingers up through his hair, "I just didn't want the deadly Chasind goddess that sprang out of my wildest dream to save my miserable hide to...loathe me."

Silence preceded a loud snort of laughter. He lifted his head and she narrowed her eyes at him, the corners of her mouth twitching as she tried to hold a straight face. With a few steps she closed the distance between them and dropped lightly next to him where he sat. She reached over and covered his hands with her own. He hadn't realized before that point he'd been wringing them nervously. She peered at him with unabashed amusement, "Deadly Chasind goddess?"

"Figured it couldn't hurt to throw in some shameless flattery," he sighed with a ghost of a smirk in place. It had always worked for Daylen.

She leaned over and placed a tender peck on his cheek, "I don't loathe you. I'm sorry I gave you the wrong impression, but I'm not angry even. We do have to have a conversation about darkspawn and them dying quicker when you boil their blood. If I had to be upset about anything, its the fact we've come close to dying more times than I like and I haven't seen you so much as prick your finger."

"These conversations with you never go as badly as I anticipate," he said, pulling one of his hands from beneath hers to place it over the top, sandwiching them between.

"Because you were raised by savages. I'm not some Chantry sister that thinks blood magic is the bane of all existence. Nothing on Thedas is born or dies without blood," a small laugh escaped her as she reclined back on to the mattress. Placing her hand over her trim waist she watched him a moment, "Speaking of Chantry sisters, there is one in Hunter Fell village that claims to have intimate knowledge of your anatomy."

"Lily?" He stiffened, "Here? Of all places on Thedas?"

"It appears you are an unlucky son of a bitch," she snickered. At least one of them was finding humor in the situation.

"More like fate's fucking plaything," he grumbled, "What else do you know?"

Vhaaja told him what Helena had gleaned. He clarified some points and elaborated on others but mostly it was correct. Relief settled over him, he'd been wanting to tell Vhaaja for a long time. And had worried over Lily longer still. Knowing she hadn't gone to the Aeonar for his sake was a mercy he wasn't expecting.

"She said that? That I forced her to love me? That was a tad pathetic of me," he felt the tug of an inappropriate smile. Only one of them remembered their time together fondly, should he have expected differently? He'd ruined her life. It was a clever defense, he admonished.

He felt the weight on the bed shift as Vhaaja sat up by kicking her legs in counter balance. Once up, she laid her head against his shoulder and snaked her arm across his back to rest a hand on the other shoulder. She squeezed gently, "You and I both know that is nonsense."

"You sound so sure. You haven't even known me that long. I could very well be a wicked maleficar."

"You are one of the least wicked men I have ever known. True, I haven't known you long. But I know how magic works, blood magic especially. Somewhere between the chanting and the bleeding a sacrifice over an alter top I'm confidant at least one Templar would have clued in. Its not like they let you piss on your own, the way I understand it."

It wasn't quite as bad as that, its not like they watched over every one's shoulder. Only a select few, ones who'd escaped before especially. But he knew Anders, and it wouldn't surprise him if he learned Vhaaja's slanted knowledge of the Circle originated with him, "I should just leave."

"Relax Jowan. We will handle things together as they come. If you run off with out me I'll just be angry and vengeful when I catch up. And you aren't so swift or clever that you could avoid me. I've already told Helena that I've known about your blood magic all along, I'm not about to abandon you."

"I never asked you to lie for me. You shouldn't have. It was never my intention to cause you trouble."

"You didn't have any say in the matter if I remember correctly," she said, mirth in her tone, "Besides, protecting my mage is as natural as breathing to me."

"Your mage?" he replied, unable to stop the nonsensical smile from spreading out over his features.

"Unless you object?"

Jowan shook his head in response, "What happens now?"

"I see Ser Gilmore and hope he's having a good day," she said lifting herself from the bed and straightening her gown. She threw him a wink before moving towards the door.

oOo

With Roland's new duties, he'd acquired an office. Finding said office had turned in to a harder quest than she'd initially expected. But it was to her benefit. There were few places within the castle that were safe to talk with guests meandering about looking for gossip to entertain themselves with. Tucked away in one of the gatehouse turrets he'd been pouring over plans to block the tunnels that ran like warrens below the keep. He didn't even know what they had been used for. The Orlesians of course did a bang up job with them, boarding up the entrances and throwing pretty tapestries over them as camouflage. He'd confessed to Vhaaja before that he feared the tunnels a weak point the darkspawn could exploit. The creatures came up from underground after all. There was no telling how far the Deep Roads extended.

The office was starting to take on a lived in feel Vhaaja noticed. The man liked to throw himself into his work. She'd made herself comfortable in the chair in front of his bureau, the plans he was scheming over pushed gently to the side as he listened to Vhaaja inform him of Jowan's dabbling in forbidden arts, having intimate relations with a Chantry initiate, and how he'd managed to evade the Circle. She'd also made it very clear that she'd known about it and would have been content to sit on the knowledge indefinitely. Hopefully she'd said enough to keep the fiery wrath that boiled beneath his green gaze directed at her. Though watching the vein pulse in his forehead made the wilder ponder that maybe the lack of witnesses was a bad idea.

Without missing a beat he asked, "What else haven't you told me?"

_-__Lie__,- _the demon interjected, a bit less hostile than previously. The time nearly cut off from each other had been as beneficial to Desire as it had been for herself. Until then she hadn't considered her own mood influenced the demon's, making Vhaaja's worse in turn; turning over each other in an endless recursive loop of escalating tempers. The demon was even offering solid advise. That he'd asked her so directly gave her pause. Try as she might she couldn't hold the man's stare. Retreating into her humanity had made her weak.

"If that's not promising..." he trailed off with a disappointed sigh, "out with it."

She wanted to believe she could lie to him. No good would come from the truth. He had a narrow view of the world and a strict sense of morality he adhered to. Thus he expected the same of others. Vhaaja took a deep breath, but the words wouldn't leave her. Never before had she lied to him directly. She'd avoided, and omitted. But that was different she felt. It appeared she respected the knight too much to start lying now.

The wilder told him briskly about Redcliffe and Jowan's part in it. The events had become widely known since, especially amongst the nobility. It was hardly news to Roland, only the addition of Jowan being the blood mage responsible. She knew it would be impossible to convince a self-sacrificing man of Roland's caliber that the Teyrn's offer wasn't something one could refuse. Since he, being a man of honor, would have died rather than betray another man. Especially one that had been an ally to his Lordship. Not every one could be so noble for nobility's sake, and men didn't always get to do what they'd prefer. Her demon might have been Desire, but his was surely pride.

For all he had been through, there weren't enough dark and twisty paths carved into his soul to understand. To see the world the way she did. He believed in one singular truth for all, and that right and wrong were as different as white was from black. She believed everyone had their own truth, and that right and wrong were shades of gray. That the two choices were often survival or death and it was power or wit that tipped the scales in one's favor.

Roland had become much to quiet for the wilder's liking by the end. He'd grown cool, distant, "You brought a criminal into Hunter Fell. My home. Threatening everything I have left. He deserves death, or worse. On top of that, instead of trusting me, like I've trusted you, you took the decision from me. I might have understood. I wouldn't have liked it, but I'd at least have been prepared."

"I had to protect him," she replied.

"And I need the do the same for the Bann and its reputation, " his cold indifference striking at her harder than anger ever could.

"I won't apologize for doing it. But I'm sorry that I had to."

"I want you and your pet mage out of Hunter Fell the morning after next, with everyone sleeping off the festivities you should be able to slip out unnoticed," Roland picking himself up from his chair and moved towards the door. Hand poised over the handle he added, "Him being here will only bring my sister ill-fortune with a Howe under the same roof. And you. I just can't stand the sight of you anymore," he opened the door and gestured for her to make used of it. She unfolded herself gingerly and took proud steps towards the portal, "I hope everything you did for him was worth it."

Vhaaja winced as the door slammed shut, and again when she felt Desire, _-__See__, __I __told __you __to __lie__.-_

oOo

It didn't happen often, but at times Bann Gilmore reflected at how simple life could have been if she'd been born a freeman's daughter. She was well aware that every girl in her service longed for the finery she wore. Not that it could be called finery when compared to the higher nobility, but it was fitting for her station. The maids envied her pretty things, but she doubted any of them knew that the true cost of baubles wasn't measured in sovereigns but in bartered freedoms. She wasn't about to pine about how difficult her life was, for it wasn't. She had privilege. With that came certain responsibilities. But upon laying eyes on her future husband as he dismounted gracelessly from his steed Lorelai lamented how few would care if a commoner left her groom at the alter to run off with their elvish lover. It would hardly be considered news.

Only two things had gone in her favor. The first that her betrothed had arrive alone, save from a man servant to dote on him and a ghost of a woman known as the Arlessa of Amaranthine. Though if Lorelai were married to Rendon Howe, she'd have tried to be as invisible as possible herself. She was a soft featured woman, thankfully Thomas seemed to take after her in appearance. The same could not be said of the woman's daughter unfortunately. The Bann could spot several key features belonging to Rendon. He had time to grow out of them still, but it was much more likely he'd do the opposite.

The second had been her brother and his companions had made themselves scarce. Better yet, she'd been informed that the wilder wouldn't be attending the function at all. She appreciated the savage as one did a wild beast, but one didn't invite the beast to a party. Lorelai expected better manners from the beast honestly. Her brother should be focusing on making a good match after all. He wasn't getting any younger. Though older always looked better on a man than it did a woman.

She'd not spent much time in the young groom's company. Lorelai would have the rest of her life for that pleasure. Instead she'd been keen on enjoying her last night as a relatively free woman. Their vows would only be the beginning of course, next she would have to figure out how to best use her new husband to Hunter Fell's advantage. She'd have to win him over, but Howe's children had the air of kicked dogs about them, she wagered it wouldn't be a hard task. Since the understanding between she and the Arl had been arranged he'd become a much more powerful man. She'd be lying if the implications of such didn't alarm her. Not only did he acquire the Teynir of Highever, but also the Arldom of Denerim. His power was second now only to the regency, and Anora sat on the throne without a king. Had she waited any longer she would not have had the clout to press this union. If she now refused, he could simply take what he wanted from her by force.

As she entered her bed chamber, she could feel a presence behind her. It was how Lorelai could tell it wasn't Lian that pulled the hair away from her neck as the door creaked shut. Cool, sticky lips caressed her skin and she could feel his arousal pressed to her backside through the layers of their clothing. She closed her eyes against the sensation and tried not to heave as she envisioned his battle scared body pumping between her thighs.

"Rendon," she cooed, the heat in her voice almost enough to fool herself. One calloused hand roved up her body, another firmly grasped her breast, "What a pleasant surprise."

* * *

**a/n:**_ This chapter took longer than expected. Firstly because it hated me. And secondly because Carver stole my muse and Jowan had to go get it back. Only after an ultimate showdown did my muse cooperate. I hope you enjoy, please let me know how I did, and what I could improve on. Thank you to my lovely beta Bonkzy! FYI: Lon Dubh is a blackbird, symbolizes transition among other things._


	13. Misconceptions

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part Two: Blood Oath

**a/n:** Smut Warning

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Misconceptions**

* * *

It was the big day, whether Roland liked it or not. Vhaaja's untimely revelation played havoc with his mind as much as the wedding did. To top it off his dreams had been filled with glimpses of Highever and the carnage Howe had left in his wake. He hadn't slept well needless to say. As soon as first light broke over the horizon in a wash of reddish gold he'd pulled on his clothing and had gathered his wooden practice weapon, an exact replica of what he carried into battle. The extra weight supplemented with a rod down its core.

Anger threatened to overwhelm him. The training yard was the most appropriate place to expel his frustrations. It would be salubrious for everyone involved. He still felt there had to be a way to keep his sister from becoming a Howe. It wasn't a simple matter. This wasn't a story told by his grandfather. There was no hero waiting in the wings to save his sister. If he, or anyone, made a move against the union it could provoke hostilities. Civil War had already started to break out across the Bannorn between Loghain's forces and those that opposed to his regency because of the dubious circumstances of the King's death. Roland found it hard to believe that the man had left his son-in-law, the son of his friend, to die on purpose. But friendship hadn't stopped Howe. The most jarring betrayals were unexpected.

With no mandatory training and a good portion of the men still in a stupor having started their celebrations early, Roland expected to find himself alone on the dawn lit training field. Yet as he approached he became aware that would not be the case, it had been a false hope. The Knight's attention was grabbed by a man dancing about one of the practice dummies with precise, fluid movements. With a double bladed dagger in each hand he ducked and weaved about his imaginary enemy. The leather he wore bent to his whims with worn ease. His was a form Roland recognized. The Howes had been welcome within the wall of Highever until the moment Roland closed the gate. As his apparent chosen heir, having sent away his eldest to the Free Marches, Thomas had accompanied Rendon on occasion. More in an attempt to spark a potential match between Elissa and the younger man.

Roland continued on. The field was big enough for them both. He'd have to get used to him eventually, or join his brothers in Denerim. He'd much rather stay to protect Hunter Fell, especially now. It wasn't quite fair to judge Thomas by his father, Roland himself was nothing like his own father. A fact the knight took a great deal of pride in. The young man hardly even looked like his father. He had the same dark chestnut coloring of his mother. His thick hair was swept back, the bit at his neck curled slightly. Along his jaw was a solid line of hair that connected to his side burns to accentuate his rectangular face. His supple leather did little to hide is broad tapered shoulders and his elongated torso.

"If you plan on doing me in, I'd caution you to step softer on your next attempt," he said suddenly, stopping dead and pulling himself up straight. He held his head slightly forward, giving a slight slope to his back. He'd always been an arrogant little prick.

"Its your father I owe a knife to the back," Roland answered. Wasn't much point in hiding his feelings on that matter.

"There is a line for that," his tone was refined, barely restraining a laugh, "and a pyre next to it for the men foolish enough to try. I don't remember you being a fool, Ser Gilmore."

Roland wasn't sure if that comment was meant to be a warning, or a threat. Coming from a Howe, it was safe to assume both, "You've improved since the last time I saw you."

He glanced over his shoulder, an easy smile coming across his soft, boyish features. His the regret Roland caught in his caramel eyes betrayed his devil may care body language. It was the same skill the knight had honed to read the wilder, "Its been what? Two years or better. I called Elissa something unkind, that she deserved mind you, and she unceremoniously handed my arse to me."

"That was her way."

"Never heard the end of it. After, the Arl strongly encouraged I improve," the the twinge at the corner of the man's smirk made Roland wonder if it had been with a strap to the backside, "I saw her, not too long before. It was at a fair, wearing silks all aflame."

It was a odd thing to tell him. Then the wind shifted and Roland caught the strong scent of something familiar on the breeze, "Have you been drinking? Already?"

"Usually," he replied with a shrug.

"You're proud of this sort of thing?"

"I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of."

"You just don't care then?"

"Sometimes, then I drink more and it goes away."

"That's..." Roland couldn't find a civil way to end that sentence.

"That's Thomas Howe, he's incorrigible," the young man supplemented in deadpan, "I've heard it before. The last thing I need is another asshole in my life right now," silence spread out between them, "And I didn't have anything to do with Highever, but I suppose I owe you an apology by association."

That was the closest he'd ever heard Thomas come to saying he was sorry. Pretty words changed nothing, "You'll be sorrier if if harm comes to my sister or the bannorn because of you."

Thomas turned then, meeting Roland's eye, "The most common misconception about me is that I am stupid. I assure you I am not."

"Its not me you'll have to worry about. The Bann is capable of protecting her own interests."

"That is what I'm hoping for," he said with a sly grin, putting a hand on Roland's shoulder as he moved passed him, "Its good you've decided not to be my enemy," he walked ahead a few steps before adding, "the Teyrn of Highever arrived late last night. He was hoping to surprise, well, everyone. Don't do anything foolish, I implore you."

Lovely, just when Roland thought the day couldn't get any worse.

oOo

Anxiety hadn't lent itself to helping Vhaaja's slumber. She'd tossed and turned that night, the ache of Desire's need like an ever constant arousal. Her body acutely aware of the fabric at her nipples and every time her legs shift. Then there was the demon in the back of her mind like a sharp point, prodding Vhaaja to feed her. It was still dark when she'd pulled on her mustard dress from the day previous and a pair of soft soled shoes. She'd spent some time pacing, but eventually coaxed herself into doing something useful. The thought of never seeing Roland again hurt, but not as much as the thought of losing Jowan.

The sun had barely risen when she stepped foot into the library. She almost jumped when she noticed she wasn't the only person in the room seeking solitude. She stopped mid step as the man materialized into Rendon Howe. He looked up for the pages held in front of him. Vhaaja didn't believe for one second that just because the old dog was alone that he was harmless. Like many Ferelden nobles in his age bracket, he had fought and killed his fair share of Orlesians. Vhaaja knew much of the Rebellion, and she knew what little was said of White River. She imagined those who survived it, lived there still. She recognized his posture, it was the only she had ever seen him carry. That middle ground between relaxed and at the ready, like he was always expecting an attack but confidant that he could handle anything that was thrown at him. It was the same thing Vhaaja saw looking back at her when she caught a glimpse of her reflection.

She was not a good woman, he was not a good man. Both of them had embraced the darkness of their demons. She'd been fighting them before Desire, and like she wagered he fought his before White River. She fought her demon now, but that had no bearing on the past. Where she'd taken delight in watching the light fade from a Templar's eyes as she pulled him to the precipice of death. He'd begged for a quick end that she had no intention of giving him. She understood cruelty. Their eyes met and she spoke, feigning good manners, "Pardon your Grace, I didn't expect to find anyone here."

His eyes narrowed, "I wasn't expecting to be found, especially by you."

While he warranted concern, he didn't strike fear into her core. He hadn't in Highever when he'd scrutinized her like a piece of moldy cheese. Nor had he when he cautioned Loghain not to send a girl to do a man's job. Now under his stare, she didn't bat an eye.

"Rest assured I'll not languish in you presence," she tread lightly to the shelf she sought.

"Suppose its something to be said when the heathens despise you, " he replied going back to his reading in the low lamp light.

"Despise is a strong word. I have a general apathy towards people in general, I wouldn't read too much into it," she pulled a bound atlas from among the titles.

"And thus we find our common ground."

Vhaaja tucked the book beneath her arm and moved towards the exit. She stopped short of leaving the room, "Your greatest mistake in this whole affair was to leave me to rot in that cell. You could have made use of me, woman or not."

"Who says I didn't?" he licked a finger and turned the page. Vhaaja pondered at that a moment before he added, "Ah, see, you're not as clever as you think."

Vhaaja said no more, taking her leave. All the way back to her room it galled her that she couldn't decipher his meaning. Unless, of course, he used her. For what she couldn't fathom, but she didn't have time for such thoughts. The next morning she and Jowan would be away from Hunter Fell. She had much more important affairs to see to.

oOo

Everything he owned fit easily into a pack, with plenty of room to spare. It had been foolish of him to believe he could belong here. Among normal people. Jowan wasn't a normal man, he was a mage. He hadn't belonged with his parents, they'd abandoned him to the Chantry. He hadn't belonged to the Circle, but they'd been keen on making him fit. Only not as a mage any longer. Not at Redcliffe either, not from the moment he'd blindly followed the Teyrn's direction and poisoned Arl Eamon.

Now it would appear he belonged to Vhaaja though. Thinking about it brought with it a feeling of warmth. It was odd. For all he had loved Lily, and still did on some level, what had developed in him for the wilder was a different kettle of fish. He'd been unable to share parts of himself with Lily. Either because she couldn't, or refused to, understand or because they would frighten her. Those parts frightened him at times. Or worse, because she would reject him. Vhaaja saw him, who he really was right down to those dark corners he was uncomfortable with, and accepted them. Decided that he was a sum greater than his parts and not defined by one aspect there of.

Her acceptance made him all the more curious of what the woman kept in her own dark corners. She wore some openly, but there were others she kept closely guarded. What did she keep close to her heart? What could she have done that was so horrible she wouldn't speak of it? He'd have time to find out now that she'd sworn herself to him, promised that she wouldn't abandon him. He trusted her words, but she was an impulsive beast. She might eventually tire of him if they were never able to settle down and were always on the run. Only time would tell, but he worried over it regardless. Jowan pushed the pessimistic thoughts aside, the future was always murky. What he did know with startling clarity was he couldn't imagine being without her.

He turned towards the door as he heard a knock. A chipper sound if he was pressed to personify it. Music filtered in as he opened it. The festivities were in full swing out in the courtyard. The sun was setting down on the horizon and a full moon was due to rise. On the other side was his wilder. Yes, his. If she could make such an audacious claim, so could he. She was dressed in her vibrant purple gown. In one hand she held two wooden goblets and in the other a generous wineskin. Under her arm was tucked a heavy, bound tome. Her hair was down, scarf no where to be seen. The length of it brushed her shoulder blades.

A wry expression was painted on her petite features as she whisked inside, as she often did, not waiting to be invited. Assuming she was welcome where ever she tread. Jowan wished the woman would share a bit of that self-confidence with him. He was in dire need. The sweeping of the dress's hem garnered his attention. It was how he first noticed she hadn't bothered putting on shoes. He wondered if it was a throw back to her elvish heritage, the elves in the Tower seemed to have a strange aversion to footwear. Then again, maybe she wasn't planning on staying in the dress for very long.

"Don't look at me like that, " she said. He lifted his gaze from her feet and was met with amusement. With a snort of laughter she added, "Can you imagine? Waltzing about Ferelden in a ball gown. Wouldn't the darkspawn just cower."

Her tone was cheerful, but still a twinge of guilt took Jowan. Reminded that she was giving up many things for him, this dress the least of them. He'd never intended that, but Jowan had learn that intentions counted for very little in how events actually transpired. Concern in her dark eyes told him she knew he was worrying. And she let him, she'd accepted that too. Instead she placed the goblets and wineskin on one of the chairs and splayed the book on the table; revealing pages of maps.

"Have you decided where we are going?" Jowan asked.

"We have two choices. We could go north, and get a ship out of Amaranthine, or we could go south and see if the rumors I heard about mists in the Bannorn have any truth to them."

"Mists?"

"It is a common misconception that the mists within the Korcari Wilds are anchored to the land. It could very well be the last of the Chasind, and if it is, it means the remaining shamans have banded together. But north could be safer, we know the Free Marches actually exist."

Jowan wasn't thrilled with the concept of going south, towards the darkspawn. He wasn't usually the type that chose the dangerous option when two were presented. Going south went against his better judgment, it was opposite direction of safety. But the subtle longing in Vhaaja twisted something deep inside him, like his innards had turned over upon themselves. He'd do it. For her. How, after taking everything else away from her, could he deny her the chance to go home? He couldn't.

"You think we can handle the darkspawn if we go south?"

"There is a lot we can handle, as long as we are both willing to bleed a little."

He nodded. He was already a blood mage, there was no point going back to pretending he wasn't. If Vhaaja could accept him as a Maleficar, then he'd embrace it. To a point. He knew where his lines were drawn. But he'd bleed for what he believed in. He would bleed for Vhaaja.

"Then lets see if we can find some wilders."

oOo

The Teyrn of Highever. Arl of Denerim and Amaranthine had made his appearance for one reason. To remind Lorelai of her place in this transaction. Firmly on the bottom and in a compromising position. Tomorrow she'd be sending men out to bolster Loghain's forces as he attempted to quell the uprising Bannorn. Men who fought each other over trivialities like where there sheep could graze had banded together to fight against the regent. It did not evade her that by sending her men away she was leaving her own bannorn vulnerable to darkspawn. They continued to rove increasingly northward. These men would soon have to stop playing at war and start addressing the true threat.

Orlais was but waiting for Ferelden to weaken. If any believed that Empress Celene was offering her aid for anything but her own interests, they were fools. On the topic of fools, if Eamon truly gave a damn about Ferelden as he claimed her would stop fighting Teyrn Loghain and work with him while there was a country still to save from the corruption. There would be plenty of time after the Blight to decide who would wear the fancy hat. But he was a man. Men and sense rarely mixed well in Lorelai's opinion.

The ceremony had been dreadfully long. As soon as the papers were signed, however, Rendon Howe had taken leave of Hunter Fell as hi had her bed. When the business of the affair was complete he'd simply faded away like a bad dream. Yes, the man was himself a nightmare. Lorelai was half surprised he didn't insist on witnessing the consummation of the marriage, for the discomfort it would cause. She wouldn't have allowed it. For all that she was now a Howe, Lorelai was Bann of Hunter Fell. If there was any shred of light left to the man, she had never found it; and she'd been cultivating his favor for some time.

Lorelai certainly wasn't complaining about his departure. She had just finished her third ample goblet of celebratory wine. What was most interesting was the change that came over her new husband when his father had left. Rendon's wife remained. He'd tried his best to avoid the woman his entire stay. It wasn't a fact the woman seemed to lament. Lorelai how well that boded for her own marriage. If Thomas thought she would turn into an invisible wisp like his mother he had a surprise coming.

Though, as she watched him now, Lorelai wasn't overly worried. He'd slipped from the nobler guests and after a bit of searching the Bann had found him with her small retinue of knights; singing and carrying on. A good time being had by all involved. His voice wrought from her a lopsided grin. Not because he was talented. Her husband couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Yet that didn't stop him from trying in earnest. In between bawdy versus he gulped down mouthfuls of ale.

Lorelai found herself gravitating more towards Thomas the longer she watched him. It was silly, and girlish, but she was actually starting to like him. A little. She was a bit saddened by the sudden thought that he'd probably was thinking the same of one of her knights. Too much wine was playing havoc with her sense, not an all together unpleasant experience. So long as she didn't end up embarrassing herself. It was then he looked up from her and noticed her as she sang a verse with the men, their men now. He winked at her, no she must have imagined it but she found herself blushing just the same. The wine was doing her no favors this night.

He finished the song, then said something she couldn't hear to the men. She didn't like the expressions that came over them, especially that of Thomas. It didn't take long for her to learn his intent. He swallowed the last of his ale and set the mug down. He leveled on her a heated stare that lit a fire just below her skin. That must surely be the wine as well, she mused as his svelte form sauntered towards her. A wry grin stretched his thin mouth, just a touch of roguish charm.

Thomas began to sing and one of the men played the tune on his small wooden pipe.

oOo

'The Lord Roslin's daughter

Walked through the woods alone

When by come Ser Wedderburn

A servant of the king.

He said unto his servant man

Were it not against the law,

I'd take her into my own bed

And lie her next to the wall.'

oOo

She glared at him as he sang. His horrible off-key tone ruining her favorite ballad. He had no way of knowing that did he? She crossed her arms as he continued.

oOo

'Then he jumped off his milk white steed

And he set the lady on

And all the way he walked on foot

And he held her by the hand.

He held her by the middle of the waist

For fear that she should fall

'til he took her into his own bed

To lie her next to the wall.'

oOo

He then gestured to her. Lorelai hastily shook her head. Then relented to his exaggerated pout, the wine acting as liquid courage.

oOo

'Oh, said the pretty lady,

Before you do gain me,

It's you must dress me dishes yet

And that is dishes three

Dishes three you must dress me

Though I'll not eat at all

Before I lie in your bed

At either stock or wall

oOo

Oh, you must get my supper

A cherry without a stone

And you must get my supper

A chicken without a bone

And you must get my supper

A bird without a gall

Before I lie in your bed

At either stock or wall'

oOo

Lorelai resisted the urge to smack the cocky little smirk from his face as he took up the next verse. Instead Lorelai tried her best to mirror his expression. She couldn't remember when she'd last had this much fun. She was fairly certain it was back in a time she had thought purple ruffled dresses were the epitome of fashion. Perhaps being Lorelai Howe wouldn't be such a dreadful endeavor now that she and her husband seemed to actually enjoy each other. That was probably the best she could hope for in a marriage.

oOo

'A cherry when it is in bloom

I'm sure it has no stone

And a chicken when it's in the egg

I'm sure it has no bone

The dove she is a gentle bird

And she flies without a gall

So we'll both lie in one bed

And you'll lie next to the wall.'

oOo

Lorelai uttered a surprised sound as she was literally swept off her feet. She threw her arms about his neck, burying her head against him as the world spun around her. Wine. A moment later she regained enough of her with all to struggle briefly in protest, then level a venomous glare at the very amused Thomas. Firmly she asked, "What do you think you are doing?"

"Being manly and impulsive," he answered, starting towards the empty main hall. It wasn't until he reached the first flight of stairs that the reality of what he was trying to do struck him. In the toe, "Why do castles have so many stairs?"

"I am perfectly capable of walking up them."

"Hush you," he then tried to ascend without dropping his bride. He made it three steps before depositing her on her feet, "If anyone asks, be a good wife and tell them I carried you the whole way."

Lorelai rolled her eyes at that, but didn't deny his hand as it grabbed hers to pull her along behind him. At least he was giving it the good old fashioned try, Lorelai mused. How far would he take this she wondered. Would she stop him? When they finally made it to her door he swept her into his arms again. It was bad luck for a bride to trip over the threshold on her wedding night, yet apparently being dropped on her head wasn't a concern. Once inside, he kicked the door shut with his foot.

Within, the Bann was stripped of many things, including her misconceptions about Thomas Howe. The first being that he had touched a woman before. A fact she might soon be grateful for.

oOo

The low light if the fireplace flickered. The skin of wine had been drained and with it inhibitions. Mostly Jowan's. They'd made the valiant attempt at dancing, but the moment their bodies touched, their need had overwhelmed them.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he said, voice thick. He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his. Vhaaja could almost see them, his thoughts swirling wildly. He was forever over thinking things. She adored that about him, but at times its what frustrated her the most. She imagined that her own spontaneous nature had a similar effect on Jowan.

"I think you are defective. Most men would have had me out of this dress by now and had their way with me," she replied, the tension building into an electric pressure. Vhaaja had never so highly anticipated a first time with anyone. Not even with her shaman. She'd taken what they had for granted. With Jowan she knew just how precious these feelings he invoked were. This undeniable link between them was the exception, not the rule, "If I wasn't pressed so tightly against you, I'd wonder if you wanted to do this."

At that he rolled his hips against her, the molten bulge of his need sending a jolt through her. Ardor clenched at her sex and excited her nipples. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to Vhaaja's. The longing in his stormy gray recesses left little doubt, "I've wanted this for a long time. It didn't feel right, before with you not knowing about me. Now you know and its still a bit scary."

"You are afraid of me? I'm near half your size," she answered. Vhaaja walked her fingers down the line of his spine as she settled her arms around his waist. He managed a husky reply.

"This is an irrevocable step. I just think..."

Lifting herself on tiptoe she covered his mouth and swallowed the hum of his voice with a kiss. The feel of stubble tickled her chin. There was an urgency in the movements of his lips as he replied in kind, his hands went to the back of her head. His fingers laced in her hair, pulling her as close to him as was physically possible. Every ounce of his restrained need pouring into it.

"This is the part where you stop thinking."

"You are a pushy woman," he breathed.

"Perhaps you should try pushing back," she teased. Mouth half parted she pulled her tongue along his bottom lip before biting and tugging it back gently until it pulled from her possession.

"Perhaps we should get you out of this dress," he eagerly embraced her exposed neck, then collarbone with hot, burning kisses; sparking eddies of sensation in their wake.

Each and everyone was hers, there was no demon urging her to finish. She was not an extension of Desire, she was just Vhaaja. She was intimately involved instead of watching her demon perform with her body from a distant point in the back of her own mind. There was only here. Only her and Jowan. The former pulling his tunic over his head as the latter fumbled with the laces of her gown.

Vhaaja moved an arm around to help him, but he grasped the appendage around the wrist and placed it back in front of her. Then made another attempt at the laces, muttering that the only thing Vhaaja knew how to tie were knots. Meanwhile she found a more enticing task for her hand. She pulled her fingers up the inner thigh of his leather trousers until she brushed them against his captive want. A low, throaty, murmur escaped him as she massaged his length. Jowan leaned into her, mouth against her ear, "That isn't helping bobcat."

"Not your fingers perhaps," she said nuzzling against his neck in response. His scent was a powerful aphrodisiac, pulling her under his thrall as securely as any spell. Hot, moist breath tickled he ear, his teeth just scrapping against skin. Jowan nibbled the sensitive nook between her ear and jaw. She inhaled sharply, a fission of delight coursed through her body. Taking queue, he pulled the lobe into his mouth and sucked upon it gently.

The last ties undone, the dress dropped clinging down her frame in a cascade of vivid fabric; puddling onto the floor in a pool. She stepped backwards, lifting her feet to be completely free of the garment. She continued back, reclining on to the bed as she reached it. His eyes followed her hungrily. They devoured every bare inch of her stocky body, right down to her frilly white smallclothes. Scars and all.

Of course she wasn't the only one with scars. He was still pale as a dove's wing, but the Chasind too were a pale folk. She was only a few shades darker herself. Dark hair sparsely covered his chest, heavier rings outlining his rosy, subtle nipples. A faint path trickled past his naval and vanished into the waistline of his trousers. He was still softly built, there was no confusing him with a hardened warrior. Which somehow made the marks stained across his torso all the more tragic. A slight indented line was drawn down the middle of his belly, begging for her mouth.

He seemed in no hurry to join her, content for a beat of time to soak her in. It belatedly dawned on her that this was probably his first time he'd had such a luxury. The first time he wasn't hiding himself and his lover away from the ever watching Templars, the fear of being caught adhering to every moment. This had at one time been very much out of his reach.

She crooked a finger, and he came to her like magic. She pushed herself further back onto the bed as he lowered himself to it. She knelt, her thumbs hooking into the waist of his trousers when he'd come close enough. Vhaaja pulled him to her the rest of the way, until her mouth could easily find him. She kissed his chest, finding each mark that had been burned into his flesh as she worked her way down. She inhaled his intoxicating musk. Her tongue played along that alluring line to his naval. She couldn't say why she found that small thing so incredibly sexy. Beneath tenderness, she could feel his muscle tighten and hear his breath hitch into a groan.

It was her turn to fumble. Her fingers refused to work and her mind refused to focus on making them. She wasn't as proud as he had been. She peered up at him with an extended bottom lip and a helpless tug at the article in question. She laid upon her side, head propped on her elbow, as she watched him extract himself from the stubborn garment. She found his awkward struggle endearing, a reminder that this was his first time with pants. They flew out of sight seconds later in a bundle. His length strained against his smallclothes, yearning.

Vhaaja rolled on to her back as he placed an arm on either side and covered her with his body to place kisses down her skin. Her hand traveled lazily up his left thigh, and she near teared up as her fingers found the divot where his skin had been flayed and the wound cauterized. The skin felt different here, stretched. All that blood, and he hadn't used it. Vhaaja would have. Vhaaja would have killed them all and left Redcliffe as a smoking crater. Jowan hadn't. Each scar was a testament to his subtle strength. Like a willow bending in the wind, but refusing to break.

"Mother's Mercy," she moaned as he took an erect nipple into his warm, wet mouth. The sensation was intense. With Desire at the forefront everything had felt dull. Muted. Like touching an object wearing gloves.

"You like that then?" he mumbled, rolling the hardened bud with his agile tongue. She managed a nod as she squirmed beneath him. He trailed his mouth over to her other breast and paid the same attention to the second nipple. Sucking and twirling, teeth and tongue. He continued down the middle of her abdomen, her delicate skin compressing with his kisses. He came to the ornate scar below her belly button. It was faint, easy to miss. He kissed it first, before lightly tracing the outline with his finger, "What is this?"

"Contraceptive blood magic."

"That is very practical," he said. Vhaaja could tell he was tucking that tidbit away for later. He hooked his fingers through the sides of her smalls. She lifted her hips and Jowan pulled them down her legs. She finished the job with her feet and launched them from the bed with her toes. Jowan then pulled his own doubtfully down his body, like at any moment she'd tell him to put it way.

His erection spilled out, jutting from a dark triangle betwixt his legs. Long was the first word that popped into her head, but not freakishly so. She sat up a bit, her fingers wrapped around his exposed girth. He was straight as an arrow, and she'd dare call it attractive. He was scorching velvet to the touch. He groaned as she stroked, "I won't last if you keep at that."

"The night is still very young," she assured, cupping his testicles. He pulsed in her hand at her touch. She loved the feel of the soft skin that held them.

"Please," he said, lifting her hands from him, "I just want this to be perfect."

It already was. But she could humor him. She laid back, a shudder of anticipation coursed through her. He parted her thighs and teased at her entrance before trying to push in. Nerves made his first attempt less than successful. Vhaaja slipped a hand between her legs to guide him. A small noise escaped her at the moment of entry, his girth stretching her deliciously. Vhaaja watched his face, eyes half lidded as he slowly buried himself inside her. His lip quivered slightly, and his lashes fluttered. But most arousing was the soft moan that escaped him. Fully immersed, he just brushed the back of her.

Vhaaja pulled a hand along his shoulder and caressed the nape of his neck, pulling her fingers through his hair there, "See perfect. You worry far too much my dove."

He kissed her then in a breathless gasp as he found a slow, building rhythm. Vhaaja wrapped her legs around him, each stoke plunging deep inside her. She tightened her inner walls around him as he cleaved into her, arching up to meet him. Losing himself, he collapsed against her and she buried her face between his neck and shoulder. Her arms went under his, fingers biting into his back. She pulled him impossibly close to her, Vhaaja's vision filling with straining muscle, her ears with soft groans and the muted slap of skin coming against skin. His tantalizing scent thickened around her, his body becoming slick with sweat. His tempo escalated into a savage terpsichore.

He breathed a apology against her hair a second before spilling into her with one last excruciatingly slow stroke. She lulled her head and arched her back as she let the shudder of his climax wash into every fiber of her being, bringing her to a crescendo of her own. All hers. The gloves were off.

They lay entwined, the weight of him pressing against her a pleasure in itself. She lazily touched his back, running her hands up and down him. He nuzzled at her neck. Finally he lifted off of her and settled himself beside her, facing her. Jowan's hand reached out and cupped the side of her face. She scooted her body towards him, nestling her face against his shoulder, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head. She whispered nothings to him, assuring him of a job well done so she could feel the rumbling hum of his reply. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrummed, lulling her.

And in her head, there was silence. Beautiful silence. She drifted, sleep catching her unaware.

Suddenly Vhaaja was awake. The smell of sweat, sex and Jowan still cloyed to her nostrils. She bolted up, looking about for her mage when she realized he wasn't in the bed with her. A quick scan of the room confirmed he wasn't anywhere. Desire broke over her with overwhelming intensity. She tumbled out of the bed, bringing the sheet with her to wrap around her person. Vhaaja made it to the window and flung open the shutters. She inhaled the cool night air and regained her ability to focus. She battled the demon back into her corner and erected a mental wall. Desire was jealous, and still longed to be fed. Only now did the full implication of her Oath crash over her. Yes, Jowan was hers alone. But she couldn't be Jowan's alone and keep the demon fed.

_-You can't take it back,- _Desire answered as the question formed in Vhaaja's mind.

**-I could release you.-**

_-That would not negate the fact it was sworn in the first place.-_

Just brilliant. Suddenly a misty shadow darted from the corner of the wilder's eye. She turned her head to look, but it had disappeared. It was a glimpse of the in-between. Where the mists had been born. It was a phenomena she hadn't had to deal with since bonding with Desire. The next instant a pair of arms came around her middle and Jowan's chin lowered to her bare shoulder, his stubble prickling at the skin. Desire retreated, Vhaaja was again alone in her mind. She hadn't heard him enter, but she was grateful.

That was something else caught her attention. From the feel of Jowan's body stiffening he'd spotted it too. A small lick of flame rising from Hunter Fell village. That couldn't mean anything good.

* * *

**a/n:** For me this was a big chapter. I took extra time with it, because I needed it to be perfect. I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know, especially with Jowan if you thought something was off. Also if you haven't checked out Blighted by Desire, its basically a what if Vhaaja became a Warden at Ostagar story. AND ffnet hates my song formatting so...its done the best I can at the moment.


	14. Death of a Templar

**Giving Desire her Due**

Part Two: Blood Oath

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Death of a Templar**

* * *

Vhaaja watched with her arms tightly across her chest as her mage fluttered about the room in a half panic, plucking articles of clothing from where they'd been strewn and pulled them on. He stopped only briefly to swear after he apparently stubbed the solid frame of the bed with his toe. She would have found it inappropriately amusing if she wasn't so deeply annoyed. In a few hours they would have been gone and blissfully unaware of Hunter Fell or its immediate dangers, thus not obligated to put themselves in danger. The gods were cruel, allowing this now. She dropped her gaze and took a few steps forward spotting his shirt on the floor. She grasped the garment with her small toes and tossed it into the air, catching it with her hand. The sheet wrapped around her pooled to the floor as she pulled Jowan's tunic on over her bare form, the smell of him easing her frustration. Just a little. Truth be told, she couldn't really find an ounce of give a damn for what happened the villagers. Yet her mage was intent on helping, spells flying if needed. And drawing even more attention to himself. They were suppose to be leaving quietly.

Vhaaja didn't speak as she left the room and made little haste in getting to her own. Jowan had been afraid she would think he was the monster when it was clearly she who held the title. She couldn't force herself to care, but she could go through the motions. Play pretend. Perhaps if she faked it long enough she would actually start to feel it. The word darkspawn filtered up through the open window. She started to feel something then, the promise of a fight quickened her blood. She cast the tunic to the floor and eagerly dressed. Leathers in place, she couldn't help but smile. It was a dark expression, it'd been a long time it seemed since she'd felt the thrill of a challenging kill. There were few things tougher than darkspawn. Hopefully she hadn't lost her knack.

She dropped to the floor on her stomach and extract her bow and quiver from beneath her bed. Energy coursed through her as she touched the runic bow. It recognized her, and she would know the weapon in a room full of replicas. Someday she would get to tell Jowan about her bow, he would marvel at its construction. Appreciate the significance. Most would be satisfied by the fact it was a magic bow, her mage would ask how. Like she had, while it was being made. Next she extracted the dark metal staff she'd acquired on their travels to Hunter Fell. She was now certain it was a sign from the Sky Mother. Of what, Vhaaja couldn't quite discern. It was why the mother was a goddess and she was a mere mortal. Maker be damned, he didn't even love his own children. Vhaaja left the room after pulling the quiver's strap over her shoulder, the remaining items in hand. Impatiently Jowan awaited her in the hall, the tunic he wore a dark maroon. The color did him justice. Vhaaja held the staff out, he'd need a weapon. He took it, but eyed the weapon as if it would bite him.

"A bow-mage's staff is enchanted. In case their shaman has need of it," Vhaaja explained as she started for the staircase.

"I can feel that, its certainly...potent," Jowan commented from behind, the stone carrying his voice.

Vhaaja smirked, "Its not watered down Circle magic like you are used to, no."

"Or lyrium based. The energy off it isn't cool enough."

"We make due with what we have in the Wilds," she replied, then added with a grin, "Try not to hurt yourself with it."

Vhaaja could hear the din of the chaos before she pushed out into the courtyard. Upon closer inspection there was actually a measure of organization to the frantic movements of the knights and soldiers. Over top of the noise boomed Ser Gilmore's clear and confidant commands. He sounded at least like he knew what he was doing, more impressive was the fact that men twice his age were actually following his orders without restraint. The Bann's brother was certainly a man with a gift. A lean towards leadership that Vhaaja had noticed since she'd known him, in particular with the refugees they brought with them to Hunter Fell. It was a quality that his sister should be mindful of, Vhaaja thought.

Horses were lead by stable hands through the forming mob for the handful of knights the Bannorn could afford. They mounted and Vhaaja could finally make out Ser Gilmore now above the majority of people gathered. He noticed her too, almost immediately. His was a fine chestnut steed, but it wasn't a massive warhorse like those she'd seen at Highever that had been bred with fighting in mind. A beaten old mare in Ferelden was an expensive purchase, she could only imagine the cost of the war mounts. Gilmore maneuvered his animal through the mass of soldiers, Helena following in his wake on a smaller bay. When he'd gotten close enough, Vhaaja could see the subtle desperation in his otherwise stoic features. They were both pretending, so it seemed. She and the knight had come to learn each other well since that fateful day in Highever.

And there it was, a pang of give a damn. Not for those that would die, but for those that would have to live with the aftermath. For Gilmore and Helena. Despite their recent fallout she still cared about what happened to them. It was a similar feeling she'd had for her bow-sister, the sense of belonging she'd gotten when they were all together. She'd found it again, without looking. It looked almost as if Gilmore was having a difficulty forming the question Vhaaja knew he wanted to ask. So she interjected instead, pride not being one of her demons, "Would you mind if we tagged along and killed a few darkspawn?"

Relief smoothed out his features. Was he expecting her to be more defiant? Maybe Jowan was all together positive influence on her demeanor, "We need all the help we can get. Its a big band. emissaries, alphas, maybe an ogre."

"Oh my," Vhaaja quipped, relishing the idea of slaughtering them all.

"Magic is always helpful against darkspawn," Gilmore said, glancing towards Jowan. His transgressions could apparently be overlooked in the situation was dire enough. The knight offered Vhaaja a hand, "Thank the Maker the pair of you haven't left yet."

"That is one way to look at it," Vhaaja replied, taking his hand and pulling herself onto the saddle behind him. The wilder managed her fear of the beast out of sheer will, because Jowan too seemed uneasy about the large mammals. Vhaaja smirked, realizing that this might very well be another first for her sheltered Circle mage. It had been a first for her as well none too long before. Gilmore looked back to Helena and jerked his head towards Jowan.

Helena looked as if she was going to refuse at first, but finally sighed, "None of it matters at the moment," she said more for herself then offered him her own hand to help him mount. It was probably the least graceful thing Vhaaja had ever seen. She hoped that she done a shade better. Yet the end result was the same.

"Just like old times," Jowan said, once he was in place.

oOo

It happened all at once. Awful inhuman noises and screams woke the women of the Chantry from their slumber. Lily could hardly recall the order of events jumbled in her mind. There would be time to sort it out later. She hoped. All that mattered were the poor souls streaming into the broken down building and those still left outside. It was hard to believe that the darkspawn had caught them all by surprise, that the village guard had been overtaken so easily. There had been no time for the civilians to make it to the strong stone walls castle. The Chantry had been the closest sanctuary available. Many of the resident sisters had begun to see to the injured while others prayed with villagers for loved ones. One of the mothers was watching over the parentless children that had made it to the Chantry/ More blight orphans, just what every Bannorn needed.

Lily had been given a duty as well. Another pound on the door spurred her to action. She pulled the heavy door open to admit the women. Many men had taken up arms to defend their families, resulting in even more widows. Soon that would be all Ferelden had left. Widows and Blight orphans. These were truly dark days and they weren't nearly over yet. If ever there was a time for the Maker to return his children to his sight it was now. Before the whole world was consumed.

As she closed the door she saw a woman running towards the Chantry with a toddler clutched to her. Following closely behind was a small squat darkspawn with a bow clenched in its twisted hand. Suddenly the genlock stopped and pulled an arrow from its quiver. She wasn't going to make it, came Lily's horrified thought. The next moment the arrow took her in the calf. Why would the darkspawn choose to wound instead of kill her? She pitched forward, the child erupting from her grasp. The woman crawled, dragging herself towards her child by her hands. The darkspawn behind her grabbed the woman's injured leg and began to pull her in the opposite direction. She struggled, but that didn't last long. The genlock turned and kicked the woman with his boot until she stopped, then continued to drag her. Where Lily couldn't fathom, and to do what with was a mystery the sister never wanted solved.

The child, air forced from its lungs by the shock of the fall only began to cry after his mother had been rendered unconscious. Lily's feet were moving before she consciously told them to. Her entire focus was on the child no more than fifty yards from the Chantry's stoop. Try as she might she couldn't make herself run fast enough, the distance had seemed shorter in theory then it had been in reality. She dodged the fallen bodies of men, legs pumping. The smell of entrails hung in the night air, reeking the same as a latrine. There was nothing glorious about death, or pretty. Finally she made it, scooping up the toddler. Without so much as stopping to catch a breath Lily turned and made another dash. This time towards the safety of the Chantry. She focused on the heavy wooden doors this time, and nothing but.

So focused that she slipped on something wet in the grass and tumbled herself to the ground. She wrapped her body as best she could around the boy to protect him from impact. She looked back briefly, and instantly wished she hadn't. What she'd slipped on were the half eaten and fully shredded innards pulled part way from a man's body. A man she'd known. That she seen listening to one the Revered Mother's sermons only a few days before hand. The darkspawn hadn't cared how pious he was, or how much faith he'd had in the Maker. Good. Bad. They'd all died just the same in the face of indiscriminate evil. Her attention was then caught by a greater horror just beyond the man's remains. Something so terrible the child in her arms grew quiet as he too noticed the great hulking darkspawn.

It noticed them too. She moved slowly to get up, but cried out. Pain seared through her left ankle as she applied weight to the appendage. She'd just watched a woman beat unconscious and dragged off. She couldn't let that happen to herself. Its only a twist, Lily convinced herself and forced herself to keep going. She hopped, and limped. Anything to keep pressure off her injury and keep moving toward sanctuary. The rumble of footfall started behind her, getting closer and closer. The ogre persuade them with strides longer than any man's. Even with a head start the beast was quickly gaining, making a path through the bedlam. Almost there, she thought keeping her panic from surfacing. A rush of relief came over Lily as she made it to the doors. Eagerly she banged on them.

And then she banged some more.

But they remained tightly closed. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Lily fought not to be sick. She turned and leaned her back against the wood. She covered the eyes of the child, whispering for him not to look. Lily couldn't watch either, closing her own eyes. She loudly recited the Chant, wishing it as effective as any sword or shield.

"Lily!" She heard suddenly. It was a voice she knew, but hadn't heard since she had resided within the Tower of Magi. Even now as she heard it, her heart fluttered a beat; then she remembered what he was and her heart grew cold. The next thing she heard was a bellow of agony, an ogre in a great deal of pain.

oOo

Jowan put every ounce of will he had behind the spell. Later he'd blame Vhaaja for choosing it over a more familiar winter's grasp. Or maybe it was seeing Lily that placed the spell on the tip of his tongue. Regardless, he'd instinctively started to cast it. He'd only had seconds to stop the charging darkspawn. He felt for the thrum of energy in the ogre's blood and threw his own into it, increasing the tempo. The ogre pulled up short and roared as its blood boiled, paralyzing the creature. From any other beast, the howl would have curled his stomach. Yet he was incapable of even the slightest hint of pity, not surrounded death and destruction. Not surrounded by the very evil darkspawn represented.

Vhaaja ran passed him making a wide circle around the ogre. She chanted for him to hold it as she positioned herself for a decent shot. She nocked an arrow, continuing her plea. Sweat beaded down his brow and ran down the back of his neck as he held the ogre. His vitality steadily drained as he poured it into the darkspawn. He'd have to break it soon, he was already exhausted. They'd fought their way through the majority of the attacking darkspawn to get to the Chantry at the center of the village. The Highever knights had thrown away personal feelings to get the task done. With the aid of his magic and the last inferno spell off Vhaaja's bow they'd managed to clear out most of the darkspawn. Once again the four of them, five if one counted the Mabari, were fighting as a well oiled collective unit to address the tougher darkspawn alphas and emissaries. The other knights and soldiers handled the lesser hurlocks and genlocks.

It howled again and Vhaaja released, sending the arrow up through the palate of his mouth and into his brain. Where it would have killed another creature, the ogre didn't look as if it was ready to give up the fight just yet. In almost the same instant, Helena thrust her blade into the ogre's side. A precise blow where a kidney would have been in a man. With their twisted bodies, it was only a best guess scenario. She jumped back when she pulled the sword free, careful to dance away from the tainted blood that poured from the wound. Just as she was clear, Gilmore brought a powerful horizontal chop low into the ogre, severing the tendon at its heel; crippling the beast.

Jowan couldn't hold it any longer, spots swam in front of his vision. Released, the ogre took a step forward and stumbled to one knee. It was in rough shape, but still refused to die. Taking advantage, Helena barked a command at Gilmore who fell to his own knee and cupped his hands before him. She made a running start, as her foot made contact with his hand Gilmore boosted her jump. Thus allowing her to find purchase on the leather strap that held the ogre's primitive armor on. She plunged her sword between its ribs. Finding its heart, she twisted the blade and pushed herself backwards off the beast with her legs, her warcry hanging in the air.

Jowan concentrated on remaining on his feet. A task that was proving more difficult that it should have been. His mind felt full of itchy wool, thought coming slowly and scratching their way to the surface. His ability to focus seemed impaired as well, mentally as well as physically. Images before him blurred then sharpened randomly. Sluggishly he remembered Lily. She was hurt. She'd been limping. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when he saw the woman with Vhaaja well out of the ogre's way. Lily still clutched the child, now in silent awe. Thank the Maker he was able to save her. His remaining feelings for the woman were murky and confused, twisting around themselves. But he still cared, was thankful that she'd been able to secure a life for herself outside of the Aeonar. Holding that boy with so much care, Jowan was reminded why he'd loved her in the first place. Still did on some levels. Probably always would. But they had dreamed of a farm, fat babies and a life without magic. His life was magic, whether he or anyone liked it or not. The thought of himself working a farm now nearly brought on a fit of laughter in her light-headed state. It'd been a fantasy, destined to fall apart sooner or later.

Jowan's wavering attention returned to the present as he heard the thud of the ogre finally falling dead. Even time passing seemed to slow. The ground beneath his feet rumbled, the vibrations making staying standing just a touch harder. Vhaaja had been right, they did die quicker.

"Are you alright?" Vhaaja asked from his side, her hand at the back of his upper arm. He hadn't realized she'd moved. He started to tell her he was fine, but the world moved on its own forcing him to lean into Vhaaja to help keep himself steady.

"I may have over done it. Just a little," he said. His gaze drifted again to Lily behind Vhaaja. Her eyes watched him with wide terror. She looked almost as if she were more afraid of him than she had been the ogre. She'd been more afraid of him than the Aeonar. At least she was being consistent. She physically stiffened as she noticed his eyes upon her. All at once he was back in the Circle watching her turn away from him in revulsion. Again he was that boy that lived in that damned Tower, the knot of inadequacy wormed its way into his already upset stomach. Vhaaja's hand touched his face and pulled his eyes to meet hers. There was worry there, in those dark recesses. Maybe he was worse off than he thought.

"You don't look well Jowan. You should take some energy from me," she said, moving her other hand to the middle of his back.

He shook his head. He didn't want to do that. He knew how to replenish his energy with that of another, in theory. He'd just never done it before. What if he pulled too much? She made it sound so easy. But how could he live with himself if he accidentally killed her?

"Its tough, knowing your limits at first. The best shamans sometimes push themselves until they are unconscious. There is no shame in it," she said softly, trying to convince him. No there wasn't. For a long time, shame had been the only thing. After everything he'd done, how did he deserve this?

"Is she alright?" he asked, jerking his chin towards Lily. Her eyes narrowed at that and she threw a venomous glare at the woman in question, as if she'd just remembered she existed.

"That's her then? The bitch could at least pretend to be ungrateful-" Vhaaja started, but Jowan cut her off.

"Let her hate me, at least she'll be alive to do it," the knot in his gut untied a bit as he applied his limited focus to the here and now instead of the bygone days of the Circle. He wasn't the same person anymore, "I shouldn't ask this."

"No you shouldn't," she started, expression between amused and annoyed, she then added softly, "I'll stay with her. If you take some of my energy."

"Vhaaja..."

"You are helpless right now. If you won't, then I need to stay with you. She on your priority list not mine."

"What if I take too much?"

"You won't. Because there is a swift kick to the giggle berries waiting for you if you try," she replied with a smirk, making light of what Jowan considered a serious situation.

He nodded finally, she looked a bit angry at his decision at first before her features neutralized. In a thousand years, he would never fully comprehend woman kind. He closed his eyes so he could fully focus on the metaphysical hum of her life energy coursing through her veins. Maker's breath she was fiery and dark, with just a small hint of otherness about her that marked a mage. But of course, she wasn't a mage. Then there was a strangeness, something familiar but he couldn't put his finger upon. They would have to have a talk someday, before the curiosity of what she was undid him. A mystery wrapped in an enigma, one might say.

Carefully he tugged at the energy, pulling a thread of it into himself. He felt stronger instantaneously. He pulled just enough to clear his mind and prevent him from becoming a puddle on the ground if he moved too quickly. He quickly realized why it could be easy to get carried away. As her energy streamed into him, a warmth spread throughout his person. The longer he sipped, the more intense and pleasurable the sensation became. He stopped, opening his eyes to make sure he hadn't harmed the woman that trusted him so innately, even after he'd given her good reason not to. It was a frightening concept that he could enjoy draining her, killing her. The thought of it made him ill.

Movement from the corner of his eye brought his attention to a soldier running towards them. Jowan recognized the blue liquid in his hand. He might not be as done as he thought. The man deposited the vial into Jowan's open hand and ran back to Ser Gilmore to appraise him of the current situation. It seemed to be over, but Gilmore wanted to do one last sweep. Jowan looked back to Vhaaja, placing a hand under her chin and forcing her to look at him. It was very clear in the paleness of her skin and dullness of her eyes that she had been on the losing end of their exchange, "See, I knew it. I didn't want to hurt you."

She shook her head, "You didn't. I just tired, it didn't hurt. I'm in better physical condition than you are anyway," she said before returning to Lily. Vhaaja took the child, a new fantasy formed as he watched. He shook his head, returning his mind to the task at hand. _One__step__at__a__time__Jowan_, he told himself, _she__still__has__plenty__of__time__to__get__sick__of__you__._

oOo

"Who are you, if I may ask?" the woman spoke after a long span of silence. Vhaaja couldn't properly gauge how long, being away from Jowan had become a new form of torture. All she could do was worry. Why had she agreed to watch this woman when her place was at her mage's side. Catty curiosity most likely. Now all she wanted was to be away from her. What if something happened to him while she was babysitting his former lover?

As soon as the immediate threat of the ogre had passed the Revered Mother had allowed the doors opened. Once inside, Vhaaja had half wanted to declare Lily safe and leave her to her own devices. But she'd promised to look after her. She wouldn't fail Jowan. It was a character building opportunity really. They sat on the floor away from the others, Vhaaja with her knees drawn up to her chest and her head cradled in her arms against them. The child had been taken from her grasp as soon as they had entered by a relative of some sort. Tired was not a strong enough word. She lifted her head to regard the woman, ignoring the shades of in between that played at the corners of her vision intermittently. They'd stop once she slept properly. Mostly. It was her first sign that Desire's presence in her mind was weakening.

_-__The__upgraded__model__,-_ the demon snarked. Her mood hadn't improved, not that she was a tolerant creature to begin with with items that didn't involve her being fed. She had however made an effort to remain unobtrusive. Apparently Vhaaja's death at the hands of distraction would be counter-productive to her grand designs. Vhaaja too would have been content if Lily had chosen to remain silent.

"Vhaaja."

"I've heard that name before," she commented.

"Have you now?" the wilder grinned, mildly curious.

"From the refugees, a few of them are convinced you are a witch," she paused, "Are you?"

"Its ignorant to think every wilder woman is god-touched."

"I'm sorry, you're right. The Maker-" Lily started, but Vhaaja interrupted.

"I am a happy little heathen. I don't give a damn about what your loveless Maker says," she snapped.

"Thank-you, just the same. For helping me."

"Don't thank me. If it was up to me I'd drop you down a well and call it a day. Be grateful that Jowan cares more for you in a passing thought than you ever did for him. He's a good man," Vhaaja could no longer hold her tongue on the matter, not that it was a particular skill of hers in the first place.

"What he is, its a sin against the Maker," she said flatly, unprovoked by Vhaaja. Which just made the wilder dislike the sister more.

"Yes, he is obviously evil. What with him saving women and children from rampaging darkspawn. Seems to be saving a good deal more souls than your Maker. Unless... he was sent by your Maker to save you all. Wouldn't that be theological conundrum.

"He lied to me!" she retorted, a bit defensively.

"My pinky has more guile than that man. You must have been at least suspicious. Regardless, what was true was that he loved you more than his own life. He proved that. You know as well as I do that moment he revealed himself to save you, Tranquility wasn't an option anymore," then what Lily had said fully registered fully, "But I thought he controlled you mind?" Their eyes met, the sister hadn't expected Vhaaja to know that it seemed. Lily couldn't hold the stare, giving Vhaaja the impression that it was her idea. The bitch was craftier than she looked, much to the wilder's relief. She had seriously began to question Jowan's tastes in women.

"He seems different," Lily said after a moment.

Vhaaja shrugged, "He's only just started to discover who he really is."

"You love him," Lily said suddenly, earning her a scowl. The woman quickly clarified, "It shows when you talk about him. I thought I did. But I loved the Maker more."

Vhaaja replied with a snort of laughter. Maybe she was right. There was a touch of remorse in Lily's tone. Perhaps what had happened that fateful day had yet to rest easily on her shoulders. All at once she felt the hatred she was storing for the woman evaporate. There was more to Lily than she'd allowed herself to think, depths to the woman that Vhaaja couldn't guess at. She examined the sister as the thought of Lily being just another human settled. It was how she noticed Lily's hands were fidgeting. What wasn't she saying? Jowan wasn't the only guileless one of the pair.

"What do you want to tell me?"

Lily's eyes widened at the question. Bulls eye. A war played on the woman's features. At length she answered, "The refugees. A couple talked about traveling with an apostate. And someone from the castle mentioned a man staying there named Levyn."

"He's had that stupid name picked out for some time then?" Vhaaja commented.

"I-its the name of his imaginary friend when he was a child," she stated with a blank expression, as if Vhaaja should have know such a trivial tidbit. Should she? It punctuated clearly that Lily had shared a different type of relationship with Jowan than Vhaaja did now. Should that worry her? No. Of course not. They'd had better things to do than fixate on pasts they couldn't alter, "I told the Revered Mother about my suspicions."

"And she sent word to the Chantry?"

Lily nodded, "She received correspondence, Templars have been sent. They could arrive as early as today if they haven't been delayed."

"The Revered Mother just lets you read her private documents then?"

"I am good at gleaning information," Lily explained delicately.

"So you fucked him over again? Even after you talked to the refugees and knew what he's done for them?" Vhaaja asked, raising herself stiffly. It was an effort to restrain herself from physically harming Lily. That wouldn't help anyone. Mother's Mercy her muscles were sore. She shouldn't have let them cool so rapidly. She'd known better, but had been too tired at the time to care. Her violent thoughts simmered, mood aligning itself with that of her demon's on its own accord. Hate crashing over her once again.

"I was afraid. What if he'd been found out and they thought I knew. They'd assume I was associating with him again. Hunter Fell is my second chance, I won't get another."

It was then that Vhaaja realized that Lily needed her Maker with the same intensity she needed Jowan, or Desire needed to feed. The wilder closed her eyes and counted until the rage that threatened to overwhelm her subsided. She focused instead on the next task, getting out of Hunter Fell as quickly as possible. Luckily they were packed and Vhaaja had accumulated the supplies they'd need the day before. She was grateful now for Helena's confrontation, and Roland tossing them out on their ears. Without another word she skulked out of the Chantry, Lily being much safer outside her company. Nothing good ever happened when a heathen entered the Maker's house Vhaaja reminded herself.

_-__You__should__have__snapped__her__skinny__little__neck__,- _Desire spewed venomously. Hatred, she'd never felt it from the demon so strongly.

**-****You****don****'****t****even****like****Jowan****.-**

Desire paused a moment, then gave a shrug, _-__It__appears__that__our__bond__effects__us__both__adversely__.-_

The door closed behind her with a thud, Vhaaja noticed the sun just peeking up over the horizon. She'd been in there longer than she thought. The morning was cool, but smoke laced the air giving it a bitter taste. Vhaaja didn't walk long before finding Jowan, the mage locked in conversation with Ser Gilmore. The body language the men shared looked almost relaxed, both thoughtful. Jowan's hand was at his mouth, the side of his knuckle pressed against his lips as he pondered. A perfectly Jowan stance. He looked pleased with what was developing. His hand dropped as he noticed her and waved her over.

"We may have come to an agreement," Jowan said as she arrived at his side. Vhaaja pursed her lips, Sky Mother he sounded so excited.

"You both still need to be out of the castle, especially now. I can throw my sister's new husband further than I trust him. But there are other places in the Bannorn," Ser Gilmore said with gravity, "What you this night, actions speak louder than words. I may have been...rash."

Of course one problem would magically solve itself as while another reared its head. This would have been much easier if Roland had decided to keep his grudge, "I appreciate it, I really do. But I still think its best if take our leave."

"Vhaaja, don't be that way," Gilmore retorted.

She narrowed her eyes at the knight, "I'm not being any way. I just think it would be prudent if we were long gone when the Templars arrived to cleave Jowan's skull in two."

Jowan let out a shaky breath, worry washing over him. Yet his stormy gray eyes burned with resolve, "That woman was always much smarter than she let on."

"Astute observation, Ser Levyn," Jowan winced a bit as Vhaaja said it.

oOo

The tavern was little more than charred wood. For Lorelai a symbol of everything that had been lost in a matter of hours. While she had been reveling, her people had been suffering. While she had been getting acquainted with Thomas, they had been dying and their homes set on fire; doomed to burn to ash. There was little that could be done for the structures still ablaze besides praying for rain. The first of her scouts had returned, better illustrating the extent of the destruction. So far she had learned so far at least four farmsteads had been along the outskirts of the Village proper lay in shambles. The freeholders and their families slaughtered and eaten among other things she'd rather not think about. They hadn't found any of the women from the families at all. What darkspawn would want with women Lorelai was content not thinking too keenly on.

There simply hadn't been enough men to properly protect her people. Nor had the gates lasted long against the onslaught of an ogre. The emissaries and their magic had done the most damage. The tragedy before her had been caused by the negligence of one man's negligence, her Knight-Commander of the forces at Hunter Fell. The man she'd trusted to keep Hunter Fell safe, a man she'd trusted to know what he was doing. He was currently thinking over his transgression in a cell. She'd half wanted to hang the man, but ultimately she was the Bann. She was the one in error. Every death, every destroyed life was her responsibility. Of course the issue wasn't that simple politically either. The man in question was the brother of another Bann, whose bannorn wasn't but a week's travel from her own. The knight had been sent to squire in Hunter Fell nearly thirty years beforehand. She been barely born at that juncture. Her meager standing in the Bannorn had already wavered in light of her marrying into the Howe family. For all their status they were not regarded well. She could scarcely afford an enemy. Grudges in the Bannorn could simmer for generations before coming to fruition. It would be her children that would pay the price.

Thomas had already voiced his opinion on the matter, yet another point against hanging the knight. Their marriage was still forming, what she allowed now might set the pace for the future. What they had shared the previous night had been unexpected, but she wasn't about to let him forget who the Bann in the equation was. She also couldn't afford to execute a fully trained veteran knight. There would be no quick replacement for him, not with able men in demand throughout the Bannorn. Beyond that they required resources to keep them armed and armored, fed and horsed. They also liked to be paid. Soldiers were easier, marching mostly on their stomaches. Lorelai had done as her father had and kept on only a hand full of knights supplemented with infantry soldiers.

This was an area she felt was out of her depth. Lorelai knew very little of anything relating to preparing troops or going to war. It was not where her education had been focused. Her brother's had been nothing but. An idea formed, she wondred if her knights would continue to listen to him. He was young in comparison to many of them. She was reluctant though to delegate her responsibilities after what had just happened. It would also allow her brother a foothold to becoming Bann himself with the military force of Hunter Fell behind him. Taking Hunter Fell didn't seem to be one of Roland's ambitions, but true intentions were often hard to gauge. He could simply be craftier than their brothers had been about it.

For the thousandth time that day she missed Lian, wishing she hadn't sent the elf away on a wild goose chase. She was such a pragmatic and ruthless little thing. Problems for her were simple. Often just relaying them to her helped Lorelai piece together a plan. With any luck Lian would soon return. Then the real question would become what the elf's place would be would be. The thought amused a bitter corner of her mind. After so many years despising the lack of respect her father had shown her mother that it was now she that had the mistress. It made her ill at ease to realize she shared any traits with the man.

While the tavern was a complete loss, the Chantry next to it had survived. No doubt the Revered Mother would be busy composing a sermon about it being a sign against the sins of the world. Lost in thought, she nearly jumped as she felt a hand light on her shoulder.

"It could have been worse," Thomas said, voice soft and oddly comforting, "Apparently your brother had a mage in his pocket."

"Yes, helpful that," Lorelai said, her tone cautious.

"Makes one wonder what else he is hiding," Thomas said, echoing her thoughts, "So much for sending the Teyrn's troops out today."

Lorelai brought a hand to her face, her fingers massaging her temple in sloppy circles, "I'm half tempted not to send them at all. The Blight is only going to make Darkspawn attacks more frequent. This has shown us we are already vulnerable."

"Then don't," Thomas said with a shrug.

"But your fa-"

"The Teyrn can take the issue up with me," he interjected, "He always was trying to teach me to look after my own interests before anyone else's. The moment I signed my name to the marriage contract Hunter Fell became my primary interest. He should be proud I'm following in his footsteps really."

"I'm sure thats exactly how he will see it. He is not a man I want as my enemy, this is not a game."

"But it is to him, ask Bryce Cousland how far being his friend got him. Its much better to expect the knife in the back, " he replied with a serious edge, showing a side that Lorelai hadn't ever noticed or heard of before. Thomas Howe was harmless. That was the reason she'd considered the marriage in the first place. Her husband looked anything but harmless at the moment. He brought a hand to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. It was in that moment she saw resemblance between her husband and the devious snake that had sired him. Hunter Fell's devious snake as it would seem. The question that plagued her was why he would risk his father's good will. He was heir to Rendon's holdings, unless he knew something she did not. That was fast becoming more and more apparent. Lorelai wasn't entirely sure about being caught in the middle of the two men. Finally he added, "But its your choice, you are the Bann here."

"Its something to consider," she replied, not for the first time getting a sense that Thomas knew her too well given the short time they had known each other, "Later we will have to discuss your mother's extended stay if we proceed with your...suggestion."

"Maybe have my sister visit as well?" Thomas smirked.

"Of course, my thoughts exactly."

"To think I was under the impression I wasn't going to like you," A half smirk appeared on his face, lighting up his whole expression. It was heartening to know her new husband cared about things other than power., even in his ambition. It might become the key difference between father and son, Lorelai mused. But he was young yet.

oOo

Vhaaja sank her blade point first into the exposed neck of the first Templar. His eyes snapped open as he died. It was a clean severing of the of the spine, so it was a relatively quiet death. She watched his eyes, coldly enjoying the way the light faded from them. Bright blue dulling in seconds as the life seeped away. There was no denying the monster now, she couldn't even blame it entirely on the demon who was lapping up Vhaaja's bloodlust like a kitten with a saucer of cream. It wasn't what Desire preferred, the demon compared it to wanting a sirloin steak but instead getting strips of leather to chew on. Vhaaja hadn't even been aware that Desire could feed on anything else. She wouldn't have been able to, if the wilder's desire to kill Templars wasn't so intense. It would tide the demon over, for a while at least.

It had been little over a week since they departed Hunter Fell. How had they known which direction to look? An image assaulted her mind's eye of an open book of maps. Vhaaja winced. It was her fault then, she'd probably left the book open on the pages concerning the southern Bannorn. Or, Vhaaja thought excitedly, they'd heard the rumors about the Chasind and had made a reasonable assumption that that was where a wilder would go. Making it still her fault.

She'd used her last sleep spell on these two unlucky sods. Only three spells remained on her bow. Two useless flares and a Templar Killer. The latter she intended to save as long as possible. Horde away the last trick up her sleeve. She was effectively just another archer now. She'd never felt more vulnerable. A very good archer though. Not that the obtuse Ferelden arrowheads would even pass cleanly through the eye of a bucket helm. Wilder arrowheads were slimmer and they broke easier. She might be able to modify the ones she had if she ever found the time.

Something kept telling her that they were. Now more than before, she believed that every waking moment should be used to push forward. She could almost feel the mists calling out to her.

It was delusional to think that the Chantry had sent two Templars after a fugitive blood mage that had thrice escaped them in the past. Most likely three pairs were sent, its how they came after shamans at any rate. The others were likely close by even. She moved to the next Templar, still firmly under the spell. This one had tried to resist, but Brambled Path had been a very potent shaman. Even the rumors of the Chasind proved true, and she could somehow convince a shaman to respell her bow, she doubted they would be as strong. Not unless her father did them, but his tribe had always existed in bare minimum contact with the other tribes. The magic of his father's tribe was feared, especially by the superstitious Chasind. But it was her father's foul magic, and his father's before him, that had kept the barbarians of the Snow Wastes at bay. And why the Orlesians had only dared to openly invade the Wilds once.

Vhaaja knelt, placing a knee on the chest of the second Templar's plate. She tugged the helmet off, her eyes following the metal as it rolled down the natural slope of the rocky terrain. Even away from Hunter Fell, the land was still stony and matched the color of cooked greens. Her attention drifted back to the man's face as she positioned the blade above his throat. A tingle of recognition came from the recesses of Vhaaja's mind.

**-****Cullen****?-**

* * *

**a/n:**_ Its been forever...I'm really sorry everyone. I discovered a new MMO and got sucked in. I'll try not to let it be so long next time for a new chapter. The next chapter will conclude part two (I can't believe it!). I hope you've enjoyed._


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